Shadows in the Wall
by DayStorm
Summary: Newt's father was the first to be infested with a xenomorph. It was a queen. An evil growing inside his chest. But this is not about him. This story is about Newt – the only survivor of the alien infestation of her colony-home. What happened before the marines and Ripley arrived? How did Newt, out of all of them, live through the horror?
1. Chapter 1 - Evil

_***It goes without saying that Alien(s), the story and all related characters as well as the xenomorphic beast belongs to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the film or franchise of the Alien movies.***_

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** _Just a quick note to let everyone know that this is one of the two completed stories I have so far. So, for anyone who prefers a FINISHED fanfic so that you don't have to wait for chapter-updates, enjoy!_

_Also this is a good pick for anybody looking for a SCARY story. I don't just splash blood over the walls and call it frightening. No cheap scares! Haha_

_I sincerely hope you all enjoy "Shadows in the Wall". It's a good read that relies on setting the atmosphere to keep you at the edge of your seat but there's still PLENTY of xenamorph activity going on so no worries._

_Best,_

_DayStrom_

**Chapter 1**

**EVIL**

* * *

"God damn it, that's not all! Because if one of those things gets down here then that _**will**_ be all!

Then all this – this bullshit that you think is so important, you can just kiss all that goodbye!"

– **Lt. Ellen Ripley**

_Aliens_; 1986

* * *

Rebecca Jordan – or Newt, to those who knew her well – was small for her age. Everyone thought so, and they would tell her often as if her small stature was something they believed Newt was unaware of. As if her size was something the adults thought needed to be said again and again, or else people would somehow forget that the small, skinny girl living amongst them was actually eleven years old.

Newt was still very clearly a child, though the idea that she was small for her age did nothing to damage her confidence or the sense of her own worth.

A naturally quiet girl, she was often mistaken as shy and that could not have been further from the truth. Those who bothered to look past Newt's young brown eyes were so surprised by the cleverness and ingenuity of this child that they would often dismiss her as just a particularly imaginative girl. Nothing else.

Only, though she _**was**_ imaginative she was also intelligent and possessed a keen intuition that served her well while chasing the other children of Hadley's Hope through the labyrinth of air ducts spanning through the whole of the colony structure. To Newt and those others, the ducts were a highway of passages that could take a child anywhere in the colony they wanted to go. Even those levels where children were forbidden to trespass . . . if any of the adults realized how valuable those ducts were to the colony's young, no one had ever made any real attempt to stop the children from exploring the entire separate world located just behind the walls and floors and ceiling.

There was little Newt enjoyed more than going in and spying on her parents and everyone else who believed they were alone so long as the doors to rooms were closed. She even once managed to eavesdrop on the commander listening to an audio-transmission containing orders from Wayland-Yutani to expand the exploration circle around the colony.

This time, however, a journey through the ducts had taken on a far more serious air.

Newt was alone, having told no one that she was leaving. Even her brother Timothy – whom she trusted above all the others – believed that she had gone to her room to rest. Or to cry, though Newt wasn't the sort of girl who cried. She and her family had only just returned to the colony after hours of scouring the alien-wilderness further than anyone else had gone before. The wilderness where they found a spaceship that . . . that she didn't know what.

The memory of those immense arched wings rising menacingly up from the black lava-rock chilled her. She was more frightened than she would admit to anyone.

And then seeing for herself the hand-like monstrosity clamped over the face of the man crumpled on the rock. A tiny nightmare. Repugnance twisted in her belly so that she didn't immediately recognize that it was her own father lying there. Her mother screamed in desperation, calling for aid through the small handheld radio she'd wrenched from the truck where her children huddled. Terrified and bewildered.

From the seat closest to the open door, leaning over her mother's shoulder to see, Newt had caught more than a glimpse of that spider-hand-creature. She saw, where Timmy had not, those long legs clamped around the head of her father. The knotted knuckles of its joints. The sickly pale brown flesh of the tough but flattened body. A slow horror swept through Newt at the mere sight of the creature. The instinctive soul-deep flinch that could be felt so keenly in children. The unquestioned certainty that whatever was there was bad. That she was in the presence of something purely evil.

And then the creature's tail, wrapped securely around the throat of its victim tightened as if it were aware of the humans' terror. It would not allow itself to be removed.

Something grotesque beyond imagining had risen from the depths of this alien world and the horror building within Newt erupted in a scream of raw, animal panic. Whatever that creature was, she knew in the deepest parts of her that it had consumed her father. Evil like that would taint whatever it touched and she understood on a level she hadn't even been aware existed that her beloved daddy was gone. He was still alive, but she had lost him.

It wasn't until they returned to the familiarity of Hadley's Hope and her father was spirited away by white-coated medics that Newt had the opportunity to regain a measure of her usual courage. That bright point of strength that was pure _**Newt**_ – not Rebecca Jordan.

And that's where she was. An hour after returning to the colony, after promising her frantic mother that she would return to their small apartment with her brother and stay there. She had locked herself in her room and removed the panel over the air circulation duct located directly over her bed and climbed up with all the speed and agility of a spider monkey. She was used to doing this.

Newt scurried through the familiar square "corridors", accustomed to the metallic sharpness of the air in the ducts and the omnipresent chill that made her hands feel damp though if she looked at them they appeared perfectly dry.

Her habit of playing in the air ducts was an asset, as she knew exactly where she was and where to go to reach the medical bay without having to stop and peer out to orient herself along the way. She moved quickly along the passages and it took only minutes to go from her bedroom to the tunnel that ran directly parallel to the Infirmary.

She paused only once, to quickly peer out into the recovery room. Two men in clean white gowns were asleep on the beds that lined both sides of the room. The rhythmic beeping of the EKGs reduced their lives, the steady pulse of their hearts, to ghostly green lines on a sterile screen but they were alive. And that was good.

Newt moved on, slipping silently further along the duct. The next room, an examination room, was empty. Steel and glass cases of supplies and rudimentary medications were neatly arranged around a central table and appeared to have recently been restocked. Everything looked very, very clean and smelled faintly of the antibacterial soap used by the medical personnel.

The third room she left for last because it was actually the surgical bay and Newt did not like looking inside that particular room. It was all glossy steel and white floors and bright, bright lights. This room smelled of a sharper disinfectant that burned the inside of her nose and stuck at the back of her throat. The last time a patient had needed to be treated there was only a few months before. A maintenance man assigned to flush the discharge from the cooling unites had his leg caught under the pressurized plates effectively crushing the bones from ankle to knee.

She remembered hearing his screams echoing through the colony as they carried him from the processing sublevel toward the Infirmary. And the sickly-sweet smell of the man after surgery, where his leg had been amputated. To Newt, the surgical bay is where people cut off body parts.

And that is where she found her father.

Her mother was not permitted in the surgical bay itself, but three attending nurses and the surgeon were there. Her father, unrecognizable with the monster still plastered to his face, lay on the table with bright lights focused squarely on him . . . and on _**it**_.

Newt settled carefully, making sure not to make any noise in the metal air duct but wanting to stay and watch for as long as it took. She made herself comfortable and then leaned forward to peer through the ventilation slats and realized that she was in the perfect position to see everything. Her stomach cramped, twisting painfully and she thought she would be sick.

The surgeon – one Dr. Mitchell – touched the creature with a latex-gloved hand. Other than a slow, steady pulsing the creature did not react in the slightest to the contact. A nurse handed the doctor a pair of pliers and he took them from her without a word. Tried to slip them under one of the long, skeletal "fingers" but the creature's grip was so firm that to do so would have required cutting into the skull of the man on the table. Up and under the bone because the creature clung so tightly that it was almost as if it's flesh had melted into that of the human man. They had almost literally become one being.

It would not be easily removed.

The nurses muttered and were silenced by a sharp word from the surgeon. He held out a hand and called for a tool Newt didn't recognize but when a nurse placed it on his palm Newt caught sight of what he held and immediately knew what it was. A bone saw.

A bone saw . . . used in amputation.

She shivered; the desire to scream and beg them not to cut her daddy bubbling in her chest but a whisper of good sense kept her quiet. What was she afraid of? They would not cut off his _**head**_ . . . would they?

The nurses moved closer, ready with sponges and towels but were careful not to get in the way. The high, whirring noise of the saw grated harshly in Newt's ears. She leaned forward slightly, frightened but fascinated and watched with wide-eyed anticipation as Dr. Mitchell carefully touched the saw to the slender 'leg' of the creature. Millimeters above the first of the two knuckle-joints.

The saw cut easily through that tough brown flesh. The creature did not flinch or show any evidence of pain but a whistle and hiss erupted from it that Newt initially thought might have been a vocalization. The creature screaming as it was cut, rather than flailing about as you would expect. But it wasn't.

A stream of green blood spurted from the wound, flying nearly a foot out before losing velocity and splattering on the shiny white floor. The wound stopped bleeding right away, as if the creature were adapted to preserve itself. The droplets of blood on the floor hissed and sizzled with a smell like burning plastic and as Newt watched, horror-struck from her hiding place in the ceiling, the floor melted.

To Newt, it looked very much like how the lard in her mother's cooking pan would dissolve if the heat was turned up too high. That, however, was where the similarity ended. What was happening to the floor carried a sense of quiet menace about it. Foreshadowing something so much more awful to come.

"Keep calm," Dr. Mitchell was saying, though Newt barely heard him over the frantic thudding of her own heart. "It appears to be a defensive mechanism."

Not an attack . . . a defense. Not an attack.

Oh, Newt was a clever child alright. She understood the surgeon's implied reassurance. She watched him put down the bone saw and reach for another instrument. One that would not _**cut**_ the creature again. But she knew he was worried. She saw her own fear reflected in the man's eyes, though she should not have been able to see anything through the visor he wore.

The green liquid that should have been blood but wasn't . . . was something she recognized from school. Something her teachers had taught her. To melt the floor like that – to melt without burning or heat – would require something caustic.

Something like acid.


	2. Chapter 2 - Papa Don't Cry

_***It goes without saying that Alien(s), the story and all related characters as well as the xenomorphic beast belongs to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the film or franchise of the Alien movies.***_

**Chapter 2**

**PAPA DON'T CRY**

* * *

"We're on an express elevator to hell, going down!"

– **Pvt. Hudson**

_Aliens_; 1986

* * *

She saw it for the first time in her dreams.

Newt had expected the nightmares. She was, after all, an intelligent child and remarkably self-aware for someone so young. But she did not dream of the green fluid that had leaked from the creature. She did not dream that her father's face was cut when they tried to remove the creature, though she had been very afraid that they would at the time. She did not even see the desolate alien wasteland outside the safety of the colony walls, with a sky choked in thick bruise-colored clouds or the sleek but menacing sweep of the unfamiliar spacecraft's wings rising up from the rock.

None of that.

In her dreams – her nightmares – she saw the shapeless form of a beast with no face. A creature of indescribable horror that slinked through the familiar corridors of Hadley's Hope turning her home into a labyrinth of darkness and creeping shadows. The school rooms, where she had her classes with the other children and the communal meal hall. The apartments where whole families lived . . . all of it became a series of chambers and sharp corners from where the monsters lurked.

Newt woke early in the morning, gasping and sweating in cold panic. From her window came the pale gray shine of early light filtered through the smoky clouds of the world. She coughed once, feeling as if something had lodged in her throat and then threw back the bedcovers. They had soaked in her sweat, leaving the sheets feeling stiff and uncomfortable against her skin. She listened for the familiar sounds of her family's morning routines but the apartment was silent. Her brother would still be in his own bed, asleep. But there was no noise of her mother moving around. Or of her father.

Newt slipped out of bed and padded on bare feet to her small clothes locker. Pulled out the first pieces of fabric her hands touched and very quickly dressed herself. Slipped boots on her feet and laced them up. Her pair of thin shoes was better for travel through the colony's air circulation ducts but she had no intention of sneaking about today. She would walk through the halls like a normal person.

After the horror of her dreams, she needed to surround herself with people and the normality of the colony's day-to-day business. She felt no need to isolate herself in the air ducts. For a little while, at least, Newt didn't want to be alone.

Slipping out of her room, Newt saw that she was right. Everything was exactly as it had been left the night before. Her mother had not returned to check on her children, having instead opted to remain with her husband in case . . .

Newt shivered.

Would her father be dead, now? How was he breathing, with the creature covering his nose and mouth? Or had the surgeon succeeded in removing the monster? She hoped, desperately, that all this had been solved while she slept. That she would visit her father in the recovery room and find him sitting up; pale but healthy and smiling at her from one of the beds.

There were times that Newt absolutely hated her brain. It wouldn't let her lie to herself. She very much wanted to believe everything was going to be okay. She could _**hope**_ that her father would be alright but she knew that he wouldn't be. She understood that something truly awful was happening to him and there was nothing she could do but wait. Wait and see what comes next.

Newt walked quickly through winding corridors, her boots thumping stiffly on the metal floors despite her light step. She didn't weigh very much but it was hard sometimes to sneak soundlessly around. She had to remind herself that it didn't matter if she was seen. This time, she was breaking no rules. She wasn't spying. She could walk openly from the residential block to the Infirmary, because she was allowed to be in these places.

For a girl who spent so much of her time daring the adults to catch her in places she shouldn't have been, it felt strange to let herself be seen by them. No more games. At least, not for now. Newt had more important things to do than taunt authority and every step she took nearer to the Infirmary; the harder it became to keep walking. It was almost as if some invisible force were tugging on her jacket, attempting to hold her back. And some part of her really wanted to do as that force suggested. She wanted to run away and go hide in her room or in the ventilation. She would have liked to go find her friends and play and pretend that nothing was wrong.

Instead, Newt straightened her spine and strode purposefully through the sliding glass doors into the Infirmary lobby. Paused to look around the unoccupied space, with the chairs set against one wall and computer panels on the other. Her mother wasn't there. She wasn't waiting anxiously while her father was still in surgery and Newt felt a small swell of relief at her absence.

She moved on, stepping carefully across the room and through the next set of doors. In Recovery, with its row of steel beds and clean white sheets, she found her mother. She also found her father and immediately burst into tears at the sight of him.

He was wide awake and sitting up in the bed furthest from the entrance. He looked pale, with the slight waxy sheen of illness and exhaustion but he was awake! Newt launched herself across the room, her boots thudding loudly on the smooth floor and flung her whole body into her father's arms. She clung to him, sobbing in a way that showed how deeply afraid she had been. A fear so potent she hadn't even been aware of how bad it truly was.

For his part, her father seemed to understand. He held his daughter's trembling body as firmly as he could. Held her to him as her tears dampened the front of his hospital gown. From behind, Newt's mother ran her fingers through her daughter's blonde hair.

"It's okay," her father soothed. Newt snuggled closer, feeling the vibration of his voice humming from his chest into her cheeks. "Shhhh, it's okay. I'm alright."

Newt's tears slowed. With a great effort, she even managed to swallow the last of her sobs and then, with a small hiccup, she sighed and lay quietly in her father's arms. Content just to be with him.

"It came off on its own," Newt's mother said, speaking to her father. It sounded as if she was continuing something they'd been discussing before Newt arrived. Newt turned her head, keeping herself plastered against her dad but wanting to look at her mother.

Something with that statement seemed wrong, but neither of the adults appeared aware of it.

Even Newt didn't know what was said that had pricked her nerves, but she trusted herself. And something with the creature willingly detaching itself from a man it had fought so hard to keep was very wrong. Her nightmare flickered briefly in her mind, images flashing across her vision and she turned her face away. Closed her eyes and breathed deeply of the light, antiseptic-scented air of the Recovery room.

"What'd the doctor say about . . . _**it**_? Do we know what it is?" her father asked quietly. Just mentioning the creature seemed to bother him. Newt wondered what her father had gone through, in the hours where it was attached. Had her dad been awake? No. No, she didn't think so.

She hoped not.

Her mother responded, "Dr. Mitchell says it may have been symbiotic. He doesn't know why it detached, but he thinks maybe he wounded the creature and it came off out of shock. They think it might have been using you to keep itself alive, in what it must have perceived as an alien environment."

Newt's mother waved a hand, encompassing the clear-aired and human-friendly atmosphere around them.

"It was hurt?" Newt asked.

"Yes, baby," her mother said. "We disturbed its nest."

She looked at her husband, then. "The creature died almost immediately after it detached. Dr. Mitchell really believes it attacked only so that it could survive."

Newt's father breathed a sigh. He didn't sound convinced and honestly, neither was Newt. Her soul still shrank in terror whenever she envisioned the spider-hand-creature covering her father's face. That long tail wrapped around his throat, while the eight bony "fingers" clamped securely around the skull. The menace emanating from the creature had not been quiet or subtle. Whatever that creature had been doing to her dad, she would never believe it hadn't meant any harm.

Newt listened as her father coughed. Her ear pressed right up against his chest, the air moving through his lungs sounded dry. He coughed again. A hard, sharp bark and for just a second, Newt thought that she heard something slithering inside.

She quickly drew back, sitting sideways on the bed and half on her father's lap but no longer leaning into him. She glanced at her mother.

"Shame, then," her father remarked, once he could breathe again. "If the creature only wanted to live . . . we disturbed it."

Slowly, a numbing dread shooting coolly throughout her body, Newt slid off the side of her father's bed. He didn't appear to notice the sudden change in his daughter as he continued speaking with his wife. Newt's mother leaned in and took both his hands in her own. Held on tightly. Her eyes sparkled with relieved tears, too happy to have her husband returned to her; apparently unharmed from his ordeal.

Neither parent noticed the flush staining Newt's naturally fair cheeks. The redness crawling up the length of her neck or the way her eyes showed too much dark in them, as her pupils widened to nearly blot out the irises. Tears started gathering in the corners of her eyes again, though this time it wasn't relief.

Eleven year old Newt had no understanding of what was happening – she could not have said exactly what had so frightened her – but she felt it so acutely it could not be denied. Evil. Something monstrously evil had arrived.

"Momma!" Newt cried. Instinctively trying to warn her mother of something she had no words for.

Hearing the terror in her daughter's voice, the woman immediately turned to the girl. Instinct of a different kind prodding her to quick action. A mother's primal sense to protect her young. But seeing no immediate threat, she hesitated with confusion. What was wrong?

Newt's father coughed again. Hard. The sudden expulsion of air from his lungs so forceful that the man ached forward, his fist over his mouth. Newt saw, where her mother did not, the specks of purple dotting his hand. Purple. No. Red! Deep, deep red.

"Momma!" Newt screamed again, scrambling away from her dad. From her mom. From the bed and the strange sounds she'd heard coming from inside her daddy's chest.

Alerted by the commotion happening in the Recovery room, Dr. Mitchell burst in from his office which was located right off Recovery. His white coat fluttered around his hips and ballooned out from the speed with which he was moving. His face, no longer obscured by a protective visor was wrinkled but still relatively young. Sharp eyes flicked to Newt who was now nearly hysterical as she screamed incoherently towards her mother but not actually _**at**_ the woman. The little girl was in tears and refused to be reassured.

Newt's mother, distracted and nearly frantic herself as she tried to comfort her daughter without understanding the cause of her distress took absolutely no notice of anything else. She didn't see her husband convulsing on the bed behind her.

Dr. Mitchell, however, saw everything and he started shouting for a nurse to assist while simultaneously rushing towards the man. His patient. Pink froth foamed from his mouth. Strangled gurgling noises erupted from his throat. The convulsions grew wilder as the doctor attempted to clear the man's airway. A nurse bustled in, answering the doctor's calls.

Newt's father appeared to be seizing. A full, violent seizure but rather than the vacant look associated with seizures the man's eyes were clouded in unspeakable pain. They were so wide that the eyeballs themselves looked about ready to pop out of their sockets.

Newt's father screeched, and a sound burst in the room. The crunch and crackle of bones breaking. Of some extraordinary force slamming against what sounded like a ceramic plate. Newt screamed. She screamed as if she was being forced to peer into the depths of Hell; the sound so chilling that her mother froze stiff. Horror rising up in the grown woman to mirror what her daughter was feeling.

Blood sprayed, flying out with such momentum that it splattered the walls at the far end of the room. There came a sudden silence so profound that it was as if everyone had been immediately struck deaf. Newt wasn't breathing. She just crouched on the floor with her hands covering her face and did not move. Her mother, finally aware that something _**else**_ was happening, slowly turned around to look at her husband.

Her heart stopped at the sight that greeted her.

He lay on his back, mouth gaping wide with blood and foam and some other fluid staining his lips and trickling over his chin and cheeks. Eyes stared straight up at the ceiling with a look of terror and agony frozen in their sightless depths. By the eyes alone, there was no doubt the man was dead.

Protruding from the chest of Newt's father was a horror unlike anything anyone could have imagined. A slim, tough-looking demon arched from the bloody, broken mess of the human man's ribcage. It hissed once and slowly turned its body to look around at the people staring in abject terror. Then, satisfied with whatever it saw it opened its mouth in a scream pulled straight from the seventh circle of hell.

A second fanged jaw extended from the creature's mouth. Teeth like tempered steel glistened. The monster slowly, slowly uncoiled from the gore and rolled out of Newt's father's body.


	3. Chapter 3 - Behind the Walls

_***It goes without saying that Alien(s), the story and all related characters as well as the xenomorphic beast belongs to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the film or franchise of the Alien movies.***_

**Chapter 3**

**BEHIND THE WALLS**

* * *

"My mommy always said there were no monsters – no real ones – but there are . . ."

– **Newt**

_Aliens_; 1986

* * *

The monster escaped into the ventilation.

Before anyone could even think to stop it, the hideous snake-like creature slithered away, shooting fast as a darting minnow up the wall and into the air duct where no one but Newt herself could have followed it.

Of course, Newt was in no condition to follow anything. Or anyone. Hysterical to the point of paralysis, Newt remained crouched on the floor with her hands covering her face. Her mind empty of all thoughts but the sound of her own crying. She was wailing in pain and horror in complete silence. She made no sound.

Colonists came running, bustling into the Infirmary in search of the cause of all the commotion. Newt may not have been making any noises now but between her previous gut-wrenching screams and the guttural, agonized snarls of her father as something broke through his chest . . . people knew something was going and they rushed to help however they could. They arrived too late to see the monster's brutal birth or its subsequent escape. They did, however, see Newt's father lying broken on the blood-soaked bed and could only stared.

The people who had come so quickly to help were dumbfounded and frozen from a combination of horror and shock at the gory mess that was all that was left of the man. Not one of them was able to comprehend what happened. What could possibly have done that to a body?

No one understood but, like Newt, they sensed something. There was a presence - a terror- so potent that none of them could have explained it if asked to, but it was as undeniable as the air in their own lungs. It was _**there**_; the lingering presence of something wholly evil.

The next few hours were pure pandemonium.

People pelting through the winding corridors of Hadley's Hope. The Infirmary – and Newt's dad – was quarantined though the people who had been there during the death were permitted to leave. There was no virus. No infection. There was no reason _**not**_ to allow Newt and her mother to go; although they were given strict orders not to return. No one but the doctor himself was allowed back in the Infirmary. Not even a single nurse to assist had been asked to stay.

A search was organized to find the creature. Everyone knew that if it had run up into the ventilation, than it had freedom to move everywhere within the colony structure. It could quite literally be _**anywhere**_.

The colonists were moved to one of two locations. The communal cafeteria just off from the school block and the fitness centre. Both areas being the only places where a large number of people could congregate without having to stampede straight across Hadley's Hope to get there.

Newt spent the whole of that morning huddling against the smooth wall of the communal cafeteria along with her mother – who had not uttered a single word since the death of her husband. Timmy sat cradled on their mother's lap. Sleepy and frightened and confused as to what had actually gone on that morning.

Newt was vaguely aware of the swell of voices around them. The sharp, punctuated "shhhh" whenever one voice in particular rose above the rest. Everyone was curious. Something like this had never happened before and though they were all aware of the tense seriousness in those who were in charge it all seemed a little ridiculous. There were jobs that needed to get done. Duties being neglected and the children should have been in their classes. Instead, everyone was camping on the floors and polished steel tables of the communal cafeteria as if this were all just one big game.

The only people who were allowed to continue with their jobs were those engineers responsible for maintaining the atmosphere processors. Those immense machines were not supposed to be left to function by themselves for even a moment. So some colonists were still out there working as usual. Newt wondered if they'd been told what had happened. Would they be scared?

The buzz of hushed voices, like the crackle of static on carpet, irritated Newt. She wished that they would stop. She didn't want to have to sit there and listen, knowing that people had question she might be able to answer but that she had been commanded to say nothing of what she'd seen that morning. She hadn't even been allowed to tell Timmy and because of that Newt was very deliberately avoiding her friends.

She saw them, though. Girls and boys her own age or just a little younger, loitering around but not too close. They kept sneaking glances and it was not hard to see the curiosity in their eyes. The confusion in their expressions. They knew she knew what was going on and they wanted her to _**share**_.

Newt was already a leader amongst the other children. She was someone they flocked to for games and adventure and guidance in the little campaigns waged by the differing factions of complex and shifting alliances that was the focus of a Hadley's Hope child's life. As such, it was understood that Newt - as the leader of her own small band of faithful followers - had certain responsibilities and the children saw it as a terrible lapse that Newt would keep something so important a secret from them.

But where the others saw this as just another day where the adults gave orders which interfered with the games and high "politics" of the children's social maneuvering amongst themselves - a deadly earnest battle of wills and cunning - Newt was of an age where she could more easily separate herself from what was real and what was not. The other children, however, and even her own loyal following would not have understood. They wouldn't understand, not really, even if she sat them down and explained everything as honestly as she knew how.

She could feel the seriousness of what was going on with a clarity that mirrored that of the adults. It unsettled her, but this was real and unlike when one child-faction broke "war" on another – where it was always only a few children on each side and whatever allies cared to join (or were required to help, for the sake of keeping their political alliance) Newt knew in a way none of the other children had matured enough to understand that people were going to die.

And that these deaths would be final.

Shuddering, feeling new tears starting to burn in her eyes Newt turned her face away from her friends and buried herself in her mother's sweater. She couldn't forget the sight of her father's body convulsing. Blood and foam leaking from his mouth. The unimaginable pain he must have endured as the monster crunched through bone and muscle and tendon. Born in a wash of blood and gore and screams.

She couldn't do this. She couldn't just sit quietly and imagine all the horrible things that might be happening. Slowly, careful to see if her mother would stop her, Newt slid off the woman's lap and let herself sit solidly on the floor. Her mom tightened her grip on Timmy but didn't move beyond that. Newt thought that she may have fallen asleep. Exhausted by grief . . . and terror.

Crawling up onto her knees, she looked swiftly around the room. At the huddles of people just biding their time. Waiting for permission to leave or for news. She scurried quickly to the closest ventilation duct and stuck her fingers through the slats. Pulled the covering off the wall, wincing at the metallic clinking noise that seemed as loud as a firecracker in the relatively silent room.

A couple children recognized the noise and turned to look, eager for this new game but one firm glare from Newt was all it took to have them turning away again. An unwritten rule amongst the children was to never – _**ever**_ – let the grownups know when one of them was escaping. Breaking that sacred agreement was to risk 'exile'. A fate worth than death, to the children of Hadley's Hope. Any child who owed allegiance to none of the groups belonged nowhere. And an exile couldn't exactly just join another group. They ended up alone. Completely.

Of course, none of that occurred to Newt as she slipped easily into the air duct and replaced the panel to cover her escape. It was just the way things were and the warning glare she'd offered the others was pure instinct.

But now that she was back in the familiar square world of tunnels and paths that led everywhere she felt herself relaxing. For the first time in a long while, she thought she could breathe again. And it felt good, to be back where she was most comfortable. She was master of her domain, here, and no one else could match her genius when it came to these metal paths. It felt a lot like coming home after a long time away.

Newt stopped for only a moment to decide where she would go and then took off. She scurried quick and sure along the air duct, taking familiar turns and only one quick climb up. She slid out the duct and into her bedroom, where she retrieved her more comfortable thin shoes (they made less noise in the ventilation, if nothing else) and a light jacket to protect herself in case she snagged on something. It had happened before, giving Newt a healthy respect for the sharp pieces of warped steel or nails that sometimes stuck straight up out of the smooth metal of the air ducts.

Prepared now for a longer trip she scuttled back up to the ventilation and hurried towards the Infirmary block. A sick smell wafted the closer she got but Newt thought that she may be imagining the stink. The memory of what she'd seen, of her daddy's chest flayed open baring bone and sloppy tissue to the harsh white florescence left her feeling ill and very, very scared.

She found the correct opening so that she could spy on what the doctor was doing. To her relief (and secret disappointment) her dad's body had been removed. There was still a lot of blood everywhere. On the walls and tiny, thick rivulets of it snaking off the side of the bed to drip onto the shiny white floor. A large pool had congealed there.

At first, Newt didn't understand what it was she was seeing. The doctor was just sitting in a chair, as far away from the bloody bed as he could without leaving the room entirely. He had his head in his hands, but he wasn't crying. His shoulders didn't shake from quiet sobs. He was just sitting . . . motionless. Newt started at the sudden sound coming from the next room. For one wild second she thought that maybe Dr. Mitchell had caught the creature and locked it in the surgical bay but that made no sense. The sound was too heavy. Too big to be that tiny little snake-demon-creature, even if the monster had seemed immense when she first saw it. But that was just the fear. It hadn't been all that large, considering.

The door to the other room slid open and another man stepped out. He wore the shiny brass pin of a Wayland-Yutani employee. In his hands was a small device she couldn't quite make out from where she was hiding in the ventilation.

A nurse came out only a step behind the man. Her hands folded demurely in front of her while her eyes scanned the recovery room as if looking for something awful about to leap out.

"Am I to blame for this?" Dr. Mitchell demanded, without lifting his head. Newt saw him dig his fingers in his hair. It was painful just to watch and despite her own pain, she felt her heart go out to him.

"I'll have to include your involvement in my report," the Wayland-Yutani man said. "But if it makes any difference, I don't think there's anything you could have done differently. What happened . . . was not your fault."

Dr. Mitchell did not look reassured.

Skittering noises were coming from the walls. Like rats or cockroaches. Tiny little scratchy sounds. Newt pulled nervously back. She could hear the men speaking in the recovery room but her attention was inside the air ducts. She turned her head, looking in both directions. The tunnel seemed to stretch on forever. Very long and straight. Of course she knew exactly where it ended. She knew where this duct branched off, going in separate directions and the exact number of steps until it branched again. A network of interconnected tunnels.

She couldn't see anything. The air ducts were not actually lit, so she – and the other children – had learned to rely on the lights from outside the ventilation that would shine dimly through openings. Either through slats or through imperfections in the steel. This made it so that there was enough light to navigate but not enough to see much else.

Newt backed carefully away from the Recovery room opening. Those voices. The doctor and the Company man were still talking. They sounded so calm . . . but Newt had lost all interest in what was going on in that room. The skittering sounds were drawing nearer and they were _**not**_ coming from outside. Something was in the duct with her.

Newt's first wild thought is that a child had followed her. One from her own group, or else someone from a rival faction looking to ambush her while she's distracted. (Clever, though not particularly intelligent to continue the game during a real-life emergency.) But no. No, Newt knew better. The children would stay with their parents. They might not have had any idea of what was going on but none of them had looked particularly interested in games. They were scared, too.

Besides, the skittering noises could not possibly be made by a human child. They were . . . they sounded sinister. An instinctive terror lodged in Newt's throat and the idea that the creature might not have escaped as far as everyone believed froze her limbs.

Was it . . . could it be?

A long, whistling hiss echoed sharply through the steel tunnel. Newt spun around, looking into the darkness where she thought the noise was coming from but it was hard to pinpoint the location of a sound in the ventilation ducts. Noises echoed. They bounced around, vibrating through the steel so that sometimes you stopped to look in the direction you thought they were coming from . . . and ended up ambushed from behind.

It's what made the children's campaigns so difficult and rewarding. The complexity; from making sure they didn't get lost in the labyrinth of identical tunnels to how sounds were amplified and seemed to come from everywhere. It was hard, sometimes, keeping oneself oriented.

Frustrated and afraid, Newt abandoned her position and hurried back the way she'd come. This was stupid, she knew. She should have stayed in the cafeteria with her mother and brother and been safe.

The skittering noises were growing louder. Whatever was there was getting closer.

Newt scurried as quickly as she could, nerves and a sharp panic tightening in her chest. She was being chased. The creature! It _**had**_ to be the creature and it was after her!

She couldn't move fast enough. From the sounds echoing all around, the monster had to be right behind her but panic made it so that she couldn't move any quicker. Hands and legs and knees felt wooden. She was stiff and stumbling as she pushed for more speed, effectively slowing herself down.

She was almost there.

Newt flung her legs forward and rolled onto her butt so that she could slide down a slight incline in the duct. The fabric of her pants caught on a pointed bump in the steel and tore a little. She scratched herself on the descent, and a bloom of heat speared through her leg a second before the pain hit. It wasn't very bad but it was enough to have her hold still for a moment, waiting to see if the hurt would get worse.

There was silence in air ducts, now. It was so quiet Newt could hear her own heart beating. The frightened rasp of air sawing in her throat. She chanced a quick look up, peering through the darkness for any sign of the creature. She saw nothing. The incline might not have been steep but it was certainly long enough so that the top of it was completely obscured in shadow. Pitch blackness looming over her.

For the first time in so, so long Newt _**felt**_ like a child. A little girl caught up some place she never should have been. Quietly but quickly as she could, she rolled to her knees and kept going. Following the curved path of the duct she was in. Ears open for any sounds that would indicate something was ahead of her. Unlike in the other duct, this one curved and snaked so smoothly that she would not see anything waiting for her until she collided with it. A faint light shone just ahead but Newt was so apprehensive she realized – to her horror – that she was lost.

Completely thrown by the sudden realization, Newt wasn't paying attention of where she placed her hands until she moved to peek through an opening in the hopes of getting her bearings and felt cold, gelatinous slime ooze through her fingers. It felt like glue against her palms.

She stopped moving. Looked cautiously down at what she'd stumbled into and then sat back on her heels. Held her hand up to her face so that she might better see what was there.

It was clear and gluey and very, very thick. There was a weight to it. A heavy, gluey substance that stuck to her hands and gummed her fingers. And there, by her feet, was a sloppy pile of something that smelled horrible. A fleshy tangle of . . . of skin?

The sudden bang and clatter of something big moving through the duct echoed back at Newt. She glanced over her shoulder, this time certain the sound had come from behind her. Sharp hisses cut the stillness. More bangs and then the metal duct beneath her feet rattled. Vibrating horribly as whatever was there grew steadily nearer.

Heart in her throat, Newt grabbed the skin – slime and all – and pushed on.

They needed to see. The grownups. The children's pretend 'enemy'. Never talk to the grownups. It was a rule. But Newt didn't care. This wasn't a game so all those rules were garbage. They meant nothing.

Newt knew they needed to see. They _**had**_ to understand! The creature shed its skin.

It was growing.


	4. Chapter 4 - Does it Grow?

_***It goes without saying that Alien(s), the story and all related characters as well as the xenomorphic beast belongs to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the film or franchise of the Alien movies.***_

**Chapter 4**

**DOES IT GROW?**

* * *

". . . It's an 8-foot creature of some kind with acid for blood, and it arrived

on your spaceship. It kills on sight and is generally unpleasant. And of course,

you expect me to accept all this on your word?"

– **Warden Andrews**

_Alien3_; 1992

* * *

"It's a skin," Newt said.

She looked around at the adults standing over her but none of them paid any attention to the young girl. They were transfixed, fascinated and simultaneously sickened by the sight before them. _**They**_ were Dr. Mitchell, the Company man, the colony commander and a couple other adults who had been curious enough by what Newt brought back from the air ducts to come over and see what was happening.

They were not in the cafeteria with the other colonists, though no one had wanted to go far so they'd congregated in a small school room just across the hall. Close enough to be near everyone but with a measure of privacy they would not have had in a big room with half the population crowding around.

Dr. Mitchell was carefully unfolding the sloppy mess of flesh Newt had shown up, laying it flat on a table. It didn't look like skin that was shed, naturally. Not at all like snakeskin, where only the top layer comes off to allow the serpent to grow with a newer skin just beneath. This one was thick and heavy. As if the creature's flesh had been entirely removed, rather than shed.

And yet, Newt was sure. This was the shedding of an older skin to make room for the new. For a growing body. She kept her eyes on the adults, waiting for one of them to agree with her. Or at least to show that they were thinking the same thing . . . but none of them looked interested. They simply appeared sickened and unsettled.

How? How could none of the grownups see the significance of this?

The creature was growing. Therefore it was getting _**bigger**_!

"How large do you think it'll get?" a technician asked the group. Newt didn't know him but he was young. Young enough so that he might – might – have remembered the deadly-earnestness of the games the children played from his own childhood. He could have been one of them, once, and Newt took a cautious liking to him. A smidgen of trust she didn't feel for any other the older grownups.

She also felt a burst of pride. He was one of her people, once, and he was the only one to ask that question. Without thinking, she smiled at him. He didn't notice, as the bulk of his attention was fixed on the commander who had stopped unfolding the heavy, gummy skin and was now staring straight back at the technician.

The Company man, who had been there with the doctor, was one of the adults standing around the table. Dr. Mitchell, too, was there. Briefly, Newt wondered why the colony commander was inspecting the skin instead of the doctor but got distracted when a pipe over her head rattled. A hot water pipe, too small for anything to climb through, but still . . . she trembled. The memory of being chased through the ventilation was too fresh to ignore. She was deeply shaken and thought that none of the grownups really got the seriousness of what was going on.

Newt was smart enough to know that they were not just messing around, especially once they'd seen what was left of her father's body, but she thought that they weren't taking it seriously _**enough**_. They moved too slowly. They took too much time making decisions. Newt fidgeted with impatience and the grownups just kept trudging along like the creature was no worse than a rat that'd escaped in the electrical. Clearly, it would need to be found and caught but no worries . . .

She could scream! Frustration scalded hotly and Newt slid around the table. Moving behind the gathered adults to stand beside the colony commander. She peered under his arm to look at the floppy skin glistening under the overhead lights and her mouth watered something sour. The skin was a lot bigger than the snake-demon-monster that had burst through blood and bone from her daddy's body. It was . . . she focused her mind, trying to measure the size against her memory but she had been so scared! She hadn't really looked at the creature, then, because all she could see was her father with his chest burst open.

But no. Even if she couldn't measure accurately she thought that the skin was four-times the size of the creature the last time anyone had seen it.

It was growing, alright. This could not be the only shed skin lying around. In only a few hours, less than a day, it had quadrupled in size. It had to be as big as the Miller girl's dog! A friendly animal, but Newt had always been just a little scared of it because of its size. The thing she'd heard following her through the ventilation had sounded very heavy. The duct had rattled all around her as it approached so that she could easily believe it really was _**that**_ big.

The hot water pipe rattled again. Air, maybe, trapped inside but to Newt the sound grated. It put her nerves on edge. She winced and ducked her head just a little. She quietly slid away from the others, moving to stand closer to the wall. It made her feel vulnerable, to be in the centre of the room. Like there would be nowhere to escape to if she needed to get away. Newt also appeared to be the only one who thought that the sudden need to make a quick exit was a real possibility. But then, none of the others got chased by something loud and scary that they couldn't see. It horrified her to realize how easily she could have been caught in the air ducts and for exactly the same reason she loved travelling through them. Those tunnels were confined. You couldn't just slip in and out of them; first you needed to _**find**_ an exit.

Newt turned her gaze up toward the ceiling and watched uneasily as that small water pipe shook and clanged against its supports. She had to tell herself – actually had to say the words in her head – that nothing could fit in there. There was no monster hiding in a hot water pipe. But then her eyes slid away to fix on the grate covering the opening to the air ventilation duct and her heart tripped over itself. Through the slats, she could see only darkness. A dark so deep it was like a complete absence of light. This, of course, wasn't true. The ducts might be gloomy but there _**was**_ light.

For just a second, Newt thought she saw something glistening through those narrow ventilation slats. She blinked and the darkness returned to normal. Just a flat, empty black. There was nothing there.

"Rebecca!"

Newt spun, startled to realize someone had been calling her name. Even more surprised to realize she _**did**_ actually hear all three of the calls for "Rebecca" but that she was so fixated on the world over everyone's heads she had essentially just ignored them. A conscious decision not to respond until that fourth irritated demand for her attention. She even managed a moment of irritation at the interruption.

Dr. Mitchell was looking right at her, as he was the one speaking. But the small assembly of adults gathered around all wore expressions of annoyance, condescension and a mild amusement in the eyes of a couple. Newt had almost appeared to be daydreaming. The innocence of a child . . . how sweet!

"Yes sir?" Newt asked, careful not to let her annoyance show. She might have allowed a little attitude towards the doctor, if she felt he deserved it . . . but the Wayland-Yutani man worried her. He looked harmless and friendly but he could be mean sometimes.

"Rebecca, I think you should return to your mother," Dr. Mitchell said, making it a suggestion though it was clearly a command. Newt glanced at the now-fully unfolded skin on the table and nodded her head. It smelled very bad. Like spoiled milk and sausage grease. The water pipe continued to rattle ominously, echoing sharply in the otherwise silent room.

Without bothering to voice a verbal agreement – though she _**did**_ believe going back to her mother in the crowded cafeteria was a good idea – Newt started towards the door. She felt the stares of the grownups burning a hole between her shoulders as she walked, stepping lightly in her thin shoes. And then she paused.

Something was different.

She looked quickly around, uncertain of what it was she felt. Something . . . something changed. Nerve prickled sharply. The pipe kept rattling. The adults had started to mutter and Dr. Mitchell sighed. The Company man gave an annoyed, "That means get out, girl. Go!"

The air . . . it was the air that was different. It felt thicker. As if it wasn't circulating properly.

Newt's eyes sprang open and she turned to look up at the ventilation. The darkness visible through the slats _**moved**_. She could see that emptiness shine as light from the room reflected off its glistening surface. Something huge was blocking the flow of air through the ventilation and it was watching them!

Newt did the only thing she could, and that was to run straight towards the opposite wall. Towards the safety of being anywhere other than in the open . . . and the creature in the duct roared! Excited by the sight of a small, fleeing girl it burst straight through the steel and crashed into the rows of small desks lining the room. The adults froze, horror-struck – for most of them, this was the first time they'd seen the creature.

Only it wasn't the same creature that burst from Newt's dad's chest! It had changed . . .

It was not just bigger. It no longer bore any resemblance to the snake-demon at all! It stood on two slender, spring-like legs. A tail twice as long as the creature itself lashed the air like a bullwhip. Its head, glistening and smooth and black as oil had elongated while the end of it had flattened and now sported what appeared to be spines.

She couldn't see a reason for its near complete change in appearance but when the creature slowly rose up out of its predatory crouched and hissed low in its throat . . . Newt knew she was looking into the very depths of evil. Real and untainted by anything else. And she knew that everyone was going to die. There was no getting away from this. No escape!

The men started to scream. Breaking out of their terrified paralysis, the men shouted and screamed and tried to run. They rushed the door, converging on the only way out in a stampede of bodies. Driven into a frenzy of excitement, the creature leapt after them and the Wayland-Yutani Company man was the first to fall.

The creature only struck him with one clawed hand and he flew through the air, his body absolutely destroyed by the strength of that hit. He struck the far wall in a splatter of blood and gore, with bones shattered and sticking out through his flesh.

One person managed to bust out through the door before the creature captured the young technician Newt had admired before. It knocked him right off his feet, sending him crashing to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs; so frightened the man had lost near-complete control of his body. He couldn't coordinate his limbs well enough to try and get back up. The creature was on top of him in a heartbeat. It pinned him down with its claws and then, with a squeal that chilled the blood opened its fanged mouth to reveal a second set of teeth. Another jaw extended from the first so slowly it was as if the creature were savoring the moment.

Newt watched, simultaneously fascinated and scared witless. She couldn't breathe past her terror.

The creature launched that second jaw forward. It struck the back of the technician's head with enough force to crack straight through skull. The sound of bone crunching reverberated throughout Newt's body and it was enough to shock her out of immobility.

The creature lifted its head and hissed menacingly at another man lying on the floor. He must have tripped . . . but he was alive and stared back at the immense black monster prowling forward; eager for another violent kill.

Newt took advantage of that distraction to scurry away as quietly as she could. Not for the door, which was very clearly blocked but towards the ventilation where the creature had erupted only moments ago. She needed to stand on a table to reach it, but once she did she slid up and inside with all the ease of her years of experience doing exactly that. Escaping into the air ducts, like a little mouse running from a cat.

People would have heard the screams of the dying men. They would be coming to see what was wrong but at least one of them had managed to get out and Newt hoped he had to sense to warn everyone _**not**_ to come. But not everyone the creature cornered had been killed. Too afraid to look back, Newt moved as quickly as she could to get away but even then, she was still observant. Intelligent. She saw the creature leaving some men alive and, thinking back even while she ran away, she thought she might have seen something growing from under the monster's whip-like tail.

A thick fleshy pouch. Like a cocoon . . . or an egg sac.


	5. Chapter 5 - The Deeper Dark

_***It goes without saying that Alien(s), the story and all related characters as well as the xenomorphic beast belongs to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the film or franchise of the Alien movies.***_

**Chapter 5**

**THE DEEPER DARK**

* * *

"When they first heard about this thing, it was _'crew expendable'_.

The next time they sent in marines – they were expendable too."

– **Lt. Ellen Ripley**

_Alien3_; 1992

* * *

It was late.

Beyond that, Newt didn't care.

How was she supposed to care about anything, with the bodies of the colonists strewn about the wide, cluttered cafeteria hall like so much disposable waste? The gelatinous slime excreted from the monsters slicked the floors so thickly that it caked the bottoms of Newt's boots into a shiny crust that made it difficult for her to walk. She slipped often, the sudden motions churning the combination of excretion and blood into a pinkish froth.

The smell, though. It was the smell that struck Newt where it hurt the worst. More than the sight of the bodies, of the blood splattered walls or the piles of sloppy entrails sloshed on the floors. The scent was strong. Potent and sharp on the stagnant air. Metallic. Like burning metal. The thick stench of feces and urine over the spoiled-milk/sausage-grease odor of the monsters. It made her stomach churn, rolling and knotting until she thought that she _**couldn't**_ be sick because there was no way for her stomach to empty itself.

So she stood and stared at the horrors and shuddered at the futility of it all. Did any of them really believe, even for a second, that they could have saved themselves?

The big monster slithered from the ventilation, black as death and shining menacingly in the flickering overhead lights. It dropped heavily down, its clawed feet cutting into the floor. Slowly, slowly it rose up to tower over the little blonde girl standing motionless in the centre of the room. A small, slight child surrounded by bodies. Newt watched the creature, too numbed from the horrors surrounding her to feel any fear at all. She was very simply too tired to bother.

Teeth like titanium knives flashed evilly and the creature opened its mouth in what looked like a wide yawn. That second evil jaw slowly extended from within the first. Slime washed over that second jaw, excreting in a wave from invisible pores as the beast trembled with excitement.

"Why?" Newt whispered dully.

She expected no answer, and would not have received one even had the creature been able to respond to the girl's plea. Had it been able to speak, the creature would have had nothing to say, though not out of any particular malice.

Why?

There was no why.

Newt closed her eyes. The creature hissed and lunged and a bright burst of pain erupted from Newt a moment before her heart was torn from her body.

* * *

It was getting late.

Beyond that, Newt didn't care.

She couldn't sleep. Couldn't eat or drink or speak to any of the others. Her nightmares had only gotten worse since that first scary dream that woke her just in time to watch her daddy die. She saw the monster born and that was not something she would have ever wanted to know. Newt was clever enough to have concluded that one life had been traded for another. Evil could never be created without first destroying the thing that birthed it.

Three days had passed since the massacre in the school room. The colony commander, the Company man and six others were dead. Three were missing and they were not the only colonists to have disappeared since then.

It wasn't safe in the cafeteria – located right across from where the slaughter happened – so everyone had been moved to the fitness room. The gym was not quite large enough to support so many living, breathing bodies but no one was in the mood to move around. Mostly, people just sat on the floor and stayed quiet.

The people in charge had posted armed guards around the perimeter of the fitness gym and a couple volunteers were set to guard the doors but nobody really thought that would be enough. The guards had no real weapons; just things scrapped together and modified from mining equipment and whatever tools they managed to grab before the orders came that the entire colony structure was being closed down. Everyone was packed together and yet, somehow, people continued to disappear.

To Newt – and many others – packing the entire population in one location seemed like a dangerous and very foolish maneuver. They were particularly vulnerable because should another attack occur, it would be a bloodbath. A few might escape but the greater majority would die. Either torn apart by the creature or else stampeded to death as people tried to run away.

Newt considered all this as she sat tersely with her brother, chewing on the tough, brown ration bar that was her dinner. The food contained all the vitamins, minerals and proteins needed to keep the human body functional and strong in an emergency, which is exactly what it was supposed to be used for, but it was dry and tasted very much like chalk.

A _**pinging**_ noise rattled behind the wall at her back, each reverberating note grating on what was left of Newt's nerves. Fortunately for her sanity, the girl recognized the sound as a loose pipe rattling and did not lose her mind from fright. From the omnipresent terror that the creature was inside the colony but that no one knew where. It could crash through the wall so easily and at any moment, just like it'd done three days ago and then . . . and then the dying would begin again.

Newt couldn't sleep. Her nightmare was there, always right there, waiting for her to close her eyes. It got worse every time she saw it and yet, it never changed. It was always that exact same scene of the cafeteria sprayed in gore and strewn with bodies so torn up she couldn't have said how many there actually were. And then there was the monster, seconds away from killing her and her dull, numb question. Every time, she would ask it in exactly the same tone of voice. "Why?"

She asked . . . with no interest. Even in her dreams, she didn't really care. It was just something you said, when the world collapses in on itself. When the darkness closes over your head, so that you sank into the black aware that there was no bottom. That you would fall and fall forever through emptiness because there could not possibly be anywhere else to go. Just down.

She had realized once, the evening her father was first caught by the spider-hand-creature that evil such as this would taint whatever it came in contact with. That there was no escaping it and no way back. Newt wondered where they thought had come from, and trembled at the idea that she, herself, was not touched by that darkness. She had seen it, faced it, and survived it but she certainly had not gotten away from it. She could feel it, like a little worm burrowing busily inside of her. And it was multiplying. Spreading further and further. More and more little worms.

"Rebecca," Timmy whispered, his voice strained as he tried not to make any noise in the dead quiet room.

Newt looked up from her partially eaten bar, startled that anyone would dare speak to her. The other children had effectively excluded her from their circles. Evil . . . taints. They knew she wasn't like them anymore and that she frightened them. They wanted nothing to do with her.

But her brother wiggled a few inches closer to his sister and said, "Did you really see it?"

"No." Newt swallowed hard and bowed her head, letting her hair fall forward to hide her face. It felt strange to talk again after three days of having nobody to talk to.

"Everyone is saying you did," he insisted. "They're saying you survived!"

For one wild moment, Newt felt this incredible urge to laugh. But it was just so quiet in the fitness centre and there were so many people crowded all around that she resisted the impulse and instead glared at her brother.

"Of course I survived," she said, putting as much distain into her voice as she could manage in a whisper. "Do I look dead?"

Timmy wouldn't be baited. He went on, "Is it true everybody's dead? Is it true only you got away from the monster?"

Newt closed her eyes. Pressed down on those memories trying so hard to surface and show her again the images of bodies and shattered bone and blood everywhere. Of screaming and crying and the horrible screeching-whistle of the monster. The wet noise of muscle being torn straight off bone. She hadn't actually seen that part but the wet slurping noises had chased her through the ventilation as she ran away and left the grownups to their fate.

Did that make her awful?

No. No, there was nothing she could have done. At least, not to help.

"Rebecca?"

"Timmy . . ." Newt sighed. She looked straight at her brother, then. Right into his large blue eyes, so much clearer than usual in his fear-pale face. A dash of light freckles just over the bridge of his nose and a shock of blonde hair, so much like hers that it would make their mother smile whenever she looked at them together. Brother and sister. Very different and yet they could almost have been identical.

Newt made her decision, then. It was an idea she had been toying with for days. Considering it and then letting it go just to come back and look at it again. They _**had**_ to get out. Now, while it was still possible.

Timmy was staring straight back at Newt, and she blinked. Coming back to herself with a jolt, having just realized that she'd been staring at him vacantly while her mind wandered.

"Timmy," she tried again "we need to go away."

"Go away where?" he demanded. Newt took that as a good sign. He hadn't questioned her desire to leave, and she figured he must considered it too at some point. And he would have to want to do this, or else who would have challenged her. So at least she wouldn't have to convince him that going away was a good idea.

But he did have a point. She understood his reservations. Go where?

Hadley's Hope was the only human settlement on the planet. Outside the colony walls, there was nothing else . . . and Newt would not go back to the derelict alien ship. There really was nowhere to go.

Except for one place, and she didn't think Timmy would be happy by the suggestion.

"We can get away," she told him. She tilted her head to the side, just a little so that he would know she was talking about the room stuffed full of people. "It's dangerous if we stay here. But we can hide. In the tunnels. We can hide there."

"The what?!" Timmy exclaimed, _**far**_ too loudly! His astonishment overriding every instinct to stay quiet. People jumped, startled and terrified but then turned away in irritation and even anger as they realized it was only a child. Undoubtedly one too stupid to have realized the situation they were all in. It would have been funny, if it wasn't so sad. Timmy and Newt appeared to be the only ones who _**really**_ knew how desperate things were . . .

"Are you insane?" he demanded, lowing his voice to a mere hiss of sound. "The monster is inside the tunnels!"

"I don't think so," Newt said. "At least, it's not there anymore."

Timmy sneered, "Really? How'd you figure that?"

He was thoroughly disappointed in his sister. Rebecca was usually so smart! So good at figuring things out.

"Because it's growing, stupid!" Newt shot back, aware of her brother's sudden opinion of her intelligence. "It grew from tiny to bigger than anyone in one day! That was three days ago. It must be huge by now! It won't fit in the tunnels anymore."

"It won't fit in the tunnels . . ." Timmy echoed, and Newt knew he was thinking about that. "It won't fit so . . . the tunnels are safe."

He looked at her, eyes wide and a little color returning to his cheeks as a sliver of hope replaced the fear he felt. The tunnels were empty. The tunnels. Their tunnels. _**Newt's**_ tunnels.

Timmy was so overcome with the possibility that there was somewhere for them to go, to hide from the monster, that Newt had to very quickly grab his sweater to keep him from leaping and alerting everybody that something was going on.

"Where's the access?" he wondered, unbothered by his sister's concern. He turned his head back and forth, scanning the ceiling and floors for the entrance to the ventilation ducts. Newt, of course, already knew where it was. There were four in the room. Three spaced evenly along the ceiling, to allow for the easy and even flow of fresh air in the fitness gym. Those would be impossible to sneak into. Not with so many people around and certainly not so far over the children's heads like that.

But there was one just off the floor, behind the huge sheet of mirror glass. It was there to keep the mirror cool, so that it wouldn't steam in the hot, sweaty room. Newt didn't know that, of course, and actually had no idea at all why someone would place an air vent _**behind**_ a mirror but she didn't particularly care.

At that exact moment, all that mattered is that there was a way out of the fitness room. She was confident in her assessment that the creature would have grown too big, now, to travel through the ducts anymore. And this time, she wouldn't have to journey through them by herself. Timmy was there and his presence, even if he was no more able to fight the creatures than she could, made her feel better. Safer.

Timmy and Newt escaped behind the walls of the Hadley's Hope colony. They escaped, telling no one that they were going. They left the room packed with colonists and the inherent threat that came with being there. Packed like sheep in a pen, waiting for the slaughter to begin.


	6. Chapter 6 - The Young and the Helpless

_***It goes without saying that Alien(s), the story and all related characters as well as the xenomorphic beast belongs to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the film or franchise of the Alien movies.***_

**A QUICK WORD FROM DAYSTORM: **_Hey all, just letting everyone know that even though I'm aware that in the Aliens film, Timmy is actually Newt's OLDER brother . . . for the purposes of this story I've switched it around so that he's younger than she is. Letting everyone know that that isn't a mistake on my part. I did it on purpose. :P So, enjoy! We get to see a little more of Timmy as a character and Newt's youth in this chapter._

**Chapter 6**

**THE YOUNG AND THE HELPLESS**

* * *

"She's supposed to be some kinda consultant.

Apparently she saw an alien once."

– **Cpl. Ferro**

_Aliens_; 1986

* * *

Newt considered herself the reigning queen of the tunnels. Of the ventilation ducts. She prided herself on her ability to traverse them without ever getting lost – and she would never admit, even to herself, that that very thing had happened when she panicked, thinking the creature was after her. She had gotten so scared that she momentarily lost her way.

A moment of weakness, Newt thought. Because not only did she always know her way around, but she knew every secret corner and crevice. She knew the best places to hide, and how many turns to take to confuse the other children. Newt was very able to simply disappear within those tunnels, to the absolute bewilderment and frustration of every other colony child.

So even though the entire colony was in a state of emergency and there was a murderous monster roaming about, she felt a sharp twang of embarrassed disbelief that her _**brother**_ – of all people – had a secret hideaway she had no idea even existed.

The wide, rectangular "room" hiding right inside the colony's ventilation ducts looked comfortable. Partly because of the illusionary safety offered by the ceiling, which was really just a large fan _**whoomphing**_ dully as the blades spun forcing fresh air through the ventilation. Mostly because Timmy had apparently been very busy since his discovery of his secret hideaway. The floor was covered in blankets. The scratchy gray emergency blankets their parents had stored in the linen closet next to the washroom in their small apartment. But also the thick, plush comforter from Timmy's bed. A couple articles of clothing – her brother's – were strewn about.

At some point, Timmy had clearly been back to the apartment to gather these things. And to build his small nest in case . . . in case he needed to come here.

"When did you do this?" Newt asked, mildly awed at her brother's ingenuity. "When did you manage to get away and do this?"

It had to have happened after the colony had been shut down. After the monster was revealed as murderous, because before the slaughter in the school rooms no one had thought that the "emergency" would last very long. Everyone had really and truly believed that whatever it was the search parties were looking for would be captured and disposed of quickly and then business would resume as usual. Timmy hadn't known, then, what Newt did. He would have stayed with their mother, like the other children were staying with their parents.

"I sneaked away when mom was sleeping," Timmy admitted, looking particularly proud of himself and preening at his sister's approval. "There's no one anywhere. Nobody saw me."

Of course nobody saw him, if he was using the ducts to move through the colony. But Newt didn't say that. Timmy looked so pleased that she didn't have the heart to tell him when he said something stupid. She shuffled forward and dropped onto the mess of sheets on the floor. Immediately felt comfortable and . . . soothed. This would be a good place to sleep.

Newt looked at her brother and smiled. He blushed hotly, a deep red creeping up his neck and scurried out of the cold steel duct onto the blankets beside his sister. Looked around and then pulled something out from under a sweater. He held it out to Newt, who took it curiously and then broke out laughing. The first real moment of joy she had felt in what seemed like so, so long. The tightness knotting her chest loosened just a little.

It was a photo album. The one their mother kept in her closet so that it was safe, but one that was regularly pulled out and admired by the woman. It had baby pictures in there. Photos from Newt's and Timmy's first days of school. Classroom certificates of merit and awards earned for any number of things. Perfect attendance. High grades. Acknowledgments for things like kindness or cleverness or being of a particular help to a teacher.

That photo album contained every milestone and accomplishment achieved by Newt and Timmy almost from the moment they had been born. And he'd stolen it to hide it because it was important to him. To both of them.

Newt laid the book down on her lap and started slightly when Timmy tapped her shoulder. He held out a silver foil packet and Newt took it gratefully. It was a dessert, she realized. A piece of white chocolate that the colony cooks kept safely locked away for special occasions or as rewards. Sweets like this were valuable, because they were shipped to the colony only once a year along with other supplies from Wayland-Yutani. Desserts, like fruits, were rare treats and strictly rationed to make them last until the next drop ship arrived.

Timmy had certainly been busy! She wondered how he'd managed to get his hands on the treats, even though the kitchens and the storerooms were currently unguarded.

But as Newt took a small bite of the creamy smooth white chocolate bar, savoring the very sweet flavor she immediately loved, something else occurred to her. She turned her gaze straight on Timmy and considered him. He was busily chewing on the contents of his own silvery packet – he had a small piece of spongy pink cake – and felt a swell of deep shame for herself.

For all her cleverness, her brother had been smarter. At least in this instance. While Newt had been wasting time scurrying all through the ventilation, spying on people and trying to learn as much as she could of what was happening (and being nearly eaten by the monster because of it) Timmy had kept himself industriously busy. He'd built himself an escape-place. He'd worked very hard to set this place up comfortably with blankets and food and wasn't that gallon-jugs of water stacked in one corner? He might have brought along a few useless things like the photo album and a couple toys strewn about but for the most part . . . Timothy Jordan had done a very good job.

Newt allowed herself a bright swell of warmth and affection towards her brother. He was really and truly hers. Brave and cleverer than the other kids. She was proud of him.

Catching Newt staring, Timmy glanced up and frowned uncertainly. Sure he must have done something wrong but not sure what.

Newt stuffed the rest of her chocolate in her mouth, loving the taste and wanting to savor it slowly but it was _**so**_ good she couldn't help herself.

_**Crack! CrackCrackCrack!**_

The noise echoed harshly through the ventilation, reverberating all around the two children sitting quietly in their nest. The white chocolate Newt had so ungraciously stuffed in her mouth caught and stuck in her throat, choking her. She coughed hard, struggling to clear her airways. She spit the half-chewed mess on the blanket she sat on and drew a deep breath. Painfully. That first breath hurt.

Timmy was chalky white, his spongy cake held halfway to his mouth. Frozen there as he sat very still, listening fearfully for more noises. Neither child recognized the source of the sound but they knew it was a bad noise. Something dangerous.

"Is it the monster?" Timmy whispered to Newt, his voice trembling. Crumbs of cake stuck to his upper lip. He didn't notice.

"No," Newt responded, her voice rasping and rough from having choked. "No, that's something else."

Something else and human-made. The monster hissed and whistled and snarled, even roared, but all those were organic noises. Sounds something alive would make. The metallic _**crack!**_ echoing painfully loud through the ducts was not alive. It was a machine noise.

Newt moved toward the main duct leading out of Timmy's nest, back the way they'd arrived from, but Timmy immediately rushed to stop her. "What are you doing?"

He posed the question as if Newt had lost her mind! Another sharp crack ricocheted around them, and both children winced with fright. Newt said, "I wanna go see."

Timmy's sudden opinion of his sister's sanity could not have been clearer. "No. We're safe _**here**_."

"Someone could need help," Newt argued, weakly. It sounded stupid even to her own ears, but she was a prideful child and having her brother one-up her with his ingenuity in building this place stung. She would not let him think she was cowardly.

Newt slipped into the square air duct and hurried down the shadowy passage. She thought she might know from where the noises had come from, even though they had bounced around so wildly. Confusing the senses. Over the deafening cracks she'd heard things being knocked over. The clatter of metal instruments hitting the floor.

Timmy's nest was very near the Infirmary . . .

"Rebecca, wait!" Timmy called, panic staining his voice. He scuttled quickly behind her, afraid to be left alone or else afraid to let Newt go off by herself. Possibly a little of both. Regardless, he came with her and Newt felt happy that he did. She was brave . . . but she was still afraid. It felt good to have her brother with her, even though he couldn't move as quietly as she could through those ducts. For once, she really didn't care that he couldn't be soundless like she could.

It took no time at all to make it to the Infirmary. A minute or less, given as quick as they were moving. Timmy's nest really was just _**that**_ close to the medical bay. But rather than climb up to look out into the Infirmary rooms as her instinct directed her to do, she went down the other passage instead. On a whim, she went the other way so that she was at floor-level in the corridor outside the Infirmary. Newt paused, staring through the slats in an air vent out toward the glass door. Nothing moved but sounds traveled as vibrations through the steel beneath her hands and knees, travelling up through her palms and into her bones.

Something was there. Something was coming fast. Newt and Timmy had mistakenly cut them off. They were just ahead of what was coming.

Terrified, Timmy cuddled close to his sister. She could feel his body trembling against hers and she wasn't immune to his fear. The sweetness of the chocolate she'd eaten burned the back of her throat. She swallowed hard, forcing herself not to be sick.

And then there he was.

A man, by the weight of his footfalls because his boots and legs were all she could see of him from her position. He ran stumbling down the corridor, his boots thumping on the metal floors. Timmy's fear was near to her, so Newt felt it more acutely. But the sheer panicked terror of the man running and stumbling, tripping to slam into the walls with enough force to bruise but then pushing off to keep running was a stark terror so powerful that it invaded the space around him. It seeped like a smell straight into the air and wafted through the vents to where Newt and Timmy cowered.

Neither of them could cry, or whimper or make any sort of noise because that fear, a fear that was not their own, had frozen them.

Newt saw the metallic shine of something dark in the man's white-knuckled grip. She peered out as well as she could, considering she could scarcely make her body move, and felt her eyes widened. This was not the first time she had seen a gun, but it was the first time she saw one drawn before. This was not the same small handheld safely holstered at the belt of a security officer on his rounds. This was . . . this was what it was supposed to be.

A scary, vicious little killing-tool.

The man spun around and fired three times into the darkness crowding behind him.

_**CrackCrackCrack**_ – _chink_!

The last bullet fired and the gun was empty. The man didn't seem aware of it, at first. He continued to fire blindly into the hall. _**K**__-chink_. **K**_-chink_. _**K**__-chink_.

Panic, Newt thought. He was panicked and didn't know it.

The man paused to stare at his little gun. He looked at it and then shook it as if that would somehow make a difference. As if that would make more bullets magically appear. Raw animal terror shone brightly in his eyes, dimming the human intelligence that should have been there. His face bleached white and slick with fear-sweat. Without thinking, the man gave the gun another hard shake and then turned to point down the corridor again.

_**K**__-chink_!

It didn't have to make sense. He was too scared to realize it because his brain wasn't working right anymore. The gun was empty. Useless, now.

Newt hadn't seen the other figure materializing out of the dark, but now she did. An immense black shape coated in slime so that light glistened almost prettily off its grotesque body. It loomed up behind the terrified, solitary man. Long arms and slender, hooked fingers reaching soundlessly. Patiently stealthy, so as not to alert its victim of its presence.

Two more black figures hissed and whistled from down the corridor. They were what the man had been running from, and firing at. They were . . . it was so obvious to Newt. They were the _**distraction**_.

She knew the second Timmy became aware of the trap. Her brother stiffened painfully beside her. She heard his sudden indrawn breath and without thinking, Newt spun to wrap her arm around the back of his head and clamp her hand over his mouth.

She didn't dare utter even a breathless _**'shhhhhh'**_ for fear of alerting the monsters but then wondered if it would have mattered.

The stealthy creature lunged, lashing its bullwhip tail forward to impale the terrified man on the sharp barb at the tip. It went straight through his hip. A high, wailing screech that was a mixture of unspeakable terror and agony erupted from his throat as he fell forward. The other two monsters rushed forward, converging in the wounded human.

The thick odor of blood and urine stained the air and hurt Newt's lungs. Timmy was weeping, but quietly.

Newt expected the monsters to kill the man; screeching and crying and babbling incoherently on the floor but they didn't. They didn't kill him or rip at him or eat him. She watched, horror-struck, as one of the monsters grabbed him roughly off the floor. It hissed at the other two, and they hissed back, and then quickly turned with its prize and vanished back down the corridor. The man's screams grated harshly all the way and didn't fade with distance for a longtime.

The other two monsters whistled and moved their heads to look at each other, one baring it's teeth and slopping slime on the floor. They then followed the other monster, disappearing into the gloom as quietly as ghosts.

Timmy still made no noise. Newt's hand over his mouth wasn't necessary but she kept it there anyway. Too stunned by what they'd seen to realize it was okay to remove it.

Three monsters. _**Three**_ huge, black terrors prowling around and these ones were different than the one who killed her daddy. Their shiny black heads were rounded and smooth. As glossy as polished glass. And they had not killed the man they caught. They kept him alive for . . . for what?

The urine smell was stronger now, as Newt slowly calmed down enough to notice.

Newt glanced at Timmy, thinking that the smell came from him. Her brother was shaking uncontrollably. Only the faintest whimpers coming from some place in his throat.

But no. It wasn't him.

In her terror, Newt had peed herself.


	7. Chapter 7 - Eggs

_***It goes without saying that Alien(s), the story and all related characters as well as the xenomorphic beast belongs to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the film or franchise of the Alien movies.***_

**Chapter 7**

**EGGS**

* * *

"That's it, man. Game over, man! Game over!

What the f*ck are we gonna do now? What are we gonna do?"

– **Pvt. Hudson**

_Aliens_; 1986

* * *

Newt refused to answer any questions. She refused to speak to anyone at all. But Timmy couldn't seem to stop. For a little while, he was the centre of attention in a room full of adults. The other children had been sent to the opposite side of the room, because no one was brave enough to leave the secured section just to ask two terrified kids what they saw.

Timmy's eagerness drew immediate attention so that Newt's silence wasn't immediately noticed. No one would have understood Newt's withdrawal if they had. Their own fears, the persistent tension of those past few days, worked to make the grownups less observant than they would have otherwise been. Newt was in the room, sitting quietly next to her brother as he was being steadily questioned, but she had begun to sink into her own mind. A safe place to be, while the world around her descended into senseless horror.

"And then, and then . . . it took him away!" Timmy was saying. "It took him!"

"Took him where, Timothy?" the primary inquisitor demanded. Newt had the vague impression it was a teacher speaking, perhaps because the grownups thought a familiar authority to the children would keep them calmer than having to talk to an engineer or mechanic or even to a security officer. Newt glanced around, spotting those officers standing alertly close by. Listening but not speaking.

"I dunno," Timmy admitted. "We came right back."

He took Newt's hand in his, his fingers cool and dry on hers. Newt didn't return the gesture though a part of her appreciated the contact. It felt good. It made her feel just a little warmer and that was enough to stir something inside of Newt. She hadn't realized that she was feeling cold. But she was and the light warmth she felt from her brother was almost painful against the icy numbness in her chest. Timmy was still talking, trying to explain to everyone exactly what he had seen.

Newt withdrew her hand from her brother's grasp and slipped quietly off her chair. She didn't notice if anyone cared that she was leaving, but no one stopped her. Dressed now in fresh clothes, and having toweled off the best she could without access to a proper bath, Newt still caught the slightest odor of pee from herself and burned with shame and humiliation. Timmy told none of the other kids what had happened, but it didn't matter. _**She**_ knew. She was eleven years old and she wet her pants like a baby in a diaper.

Without stopping to think if she should, and making no effort to hide her escape from anybody, Newt walked straight across the fitness room and slipped into the ventilation ducts. There came a shout from behind her – one of the grownups calling her back, probably – but she didn't stop. It wasn't like any of them could follow her to bring her back. A kid could have, but who would send a child out with deadly creatures roaming around?

It took no time at all for Newt to return to the sight of her disgrace and the poor man's abduction. The duct smelled sharply of urine, forcing Newt to hold her breath until her lungs hurt. She peeked out into the corridor and saw nothing waiting there, so she sat down and used her feet to kick out the grate. Metal clanged harshly, echoing deafeningly around the dark corridor as the grate slammed against the floor and slid a little bit before knocking against the wall on the other side of the hall.

No fear.

The realization interested Newt enough to have her pause. She wasn't afraid. She knew she should have been, banging around like that and in a way she sorta was but the emotion felt far away. Like she was aware of it but couldn't actually feel it. And then she wondered if she were doing this on purpose. Daring the creatures to come for her? She'd already survived them twice. Could she do it again?

It was very quiet in the colony, now. With every surviving human locked up in a single location, the colony could have been abandoned. A relic left over from some mass evacuation . . . only nobody was gone. They were trapped. Waiting for something to happen so that they could respond, but not actually doing anything themselves. Or so Newt thought. And it annoyed her.

Making no effort to be sneaky, she walked to where the creatures had ambushed the man they stole and knelt down on the floor. Stuck her fingers in the syrupy pool of slobber they'd left and flinched. It was cold against her skin and thick and somehow very smooth. Like the goo the mechanics used sometimes to lubricate some of the more delicate machinery. It smelled, though. Spoiled milk and sausage grease . . . it sickened Newt to think that the smell was quickly becoming familiar to her.

She stood up quickly, wiping her slimy hands on her pants and looked up and down the corridor. The lights flickered weakly, their illumination making the hall seem much darker than it would have been had the lights not been working at all.

"Where are you?" Newt called into the dark.

She listened, straining her ears for even the slightest indication of noise. Water dripped from somewhere. What felt like a breeze gusted softly through the halls, whistling out of the ventilation. Newt couldn't tell if it was air circulating or if there was a breach in the walls, opening the colony to the outside air. That thought frightened her, where the threat of the monsters did not. Even though the atmosphere processors had made the planet's atmosphere breathable, there were still years of work to be done before this world was properly habitable. The oxygen outside could be breathed safely without masks but it was still very thin. Like air halfway up a mountain.

It would be hard to run away, now. People would get tired faster.

"Hello?" Newt tried again. "I'm right here!"

Nothing.

No monsters. They had been there only hours before and now . . . the corridor was empty. Deserted. If it wasn't for the speckles of blood, and the deep pool of slime at her feet, Newt would have thought the creatures had never been there. That nothing had happened.

Satisfied that she was alone, Newt walked boldly down the hall heading away from the Infirmary and the fitness gym where the surviving colonists were hiding. She didn't know exactly where she was going but that didn't matter so much. She was walking, daring something to leap out at her and nothing did. It seemed so stupid that so many people were ambushed and killed by the creatures but she was being left alone. Or not alone. The creatures had withdrawn to some other place, for now. They would be back.

The first place she went was to the residential block. She found her family's apartment and went inside. Some things were broken and there were splatters of slime on the walls and floors. The monsters had been inside. They weren't there now, though. She went straight to her bedroom and dropped to the floor. Flattened herself down so that she could slide under her bed and pulled out the small box. Inside was something she wasn't supposed to have. A flare. A single, handheld flare that could burn even underwater. She'd stolen it months ago on a dare, and had nearly forgotten she had it.

But she did and it felt good to hold the heavy black stick in her hands. She turned it over, looking for the small strip that needed to be tugged _**hard**_ to ignite the flare. She just wanted to make sure that she knew where it was, for when she needed to pull it.

Something in the kitchen _**tinged**_.

Newt froze, listening carefully. It had sounded like a cup being knocked from the counter to the floor. Her heart started to beat just a little harder. Newt stood up, flare clutched in her hand, and padded carefully towards her bedroom door. She had left the door open . . . front door was open. Bedroom door was open. Mistake? Or had she really not cared?

Now she did.

Newt's numb fearlessness evaporated and she could feel the tension again. She stood in her doorway, looking out into the living room and beyond that to their tiny kitchen. A photo her mother had pinned to the wall fluttered as the ventilation circulated air through the rooms. Nothing else seemed to move. Newt held her breathe, very aware of a presence but not at all sure what to do. Where was it?

A slight, slight skittering noise came from directly ahead of her. She had time enough to realize that whatever it was, it was coming forward. Straight towards Newt so fast it was as if it were being guided by some unseen force.

Without thinking, Newt grabbed the doorknob and threw herself backwards. Effectively retreating and slamming the door shut at the same time. Locking herself in the illusionary safety of the small bedroom.

Something struck the door with a hard knock. It dropped to the floor.

Shadows danced through the slight opening beneath the door. No actual sounds coming from the creature but a lot of shuffling around and too many quick, jerky motions. Newt's heart was hammering, now. Making up for lost effort from before. She gasped, pulling as much air into her body as she could but still feeling breathless.

What was it? What was there?

She knew – knew – it wasn't a giant black monster or even a slithery little one. That was something else and her brain seemed to be tugging at her attention. Recognition hummed through her but she just couldn't pull the memory she needed. She knew what was there, if only she could calm down . . .

Useless.

Newt's hands shook as she held her heavy black stick to her chest. The flare weapon. Her _**only**_ one. She wanted to pull the strip and light the thing but couldn't bring herself to waste it. What if she needed it later?

More noises from just outside her door and trickling sounds from inside the room. Water? Was there a breach in her bedroom wall, too? She hadn't seen one.

Newt turned and looked quickly around the small space. Bed. Clothes locker. Desk and schoolwork scattered about the surface. A thin, square rug so that her feet weren't cold on the floor in the mornings. And something dark under her desk, half hidden behind the chair.

She moved cautiously towards the object, but couldn't make out what it was so Newt grabbed the back of her chair and pulled it out. The creature on the other side of the door struck again, colliding with the solid surface with a hard knock. Newt's whole body tightened, a shock of startled fear shooting through her but the door held firm. Whatever was there could not have been larger than a cat.

The dark object partially hidden beneath her desk was . . . she couldn't tell. It was an oval object that appeared to be made of thick, fleshy leather. Again, she sensed motion but not from outside this time. Something was moving right in front of her. She was sure of it. Newt slid away, unaware of the way her body moved. She was feline. Like an animal bristling away from a larger predator. Instinct warning her away even while human curiosity held her where she was.

Newt was simultaneously fascinated and choking on horror.

Instinct was stronger than humanity. Repugnance twisted in Newt's belly and she did the only thing that she could. She spun and leapt up onto her bed. Reached both hands up over her head, realized that she was still holding the flare and stuffed the heavy rod in the waistband of her pants. She tried again, reaching for the ventilation duct over her bed and heaved herself up with far more effort than it would have taken had she been calmer. If she were sneaking away for a game with her friends, this would be easy. She would not have been weak or stiff or clumsy.

The creature kept slamming into the door, sounding frenzied to the point of desperation to get inside. There were still no actual vocalizations from it, as if it had no voice to make any sounds, but that insistent knocking pounded heavily on Newt's nerves and her panic increased.

Finally, she managed to climb into the familiar air duct just over her bed and then push the grate back into place. Sealing herself in. She looked down both sides of the tunnel, fearful that there might have been a creature in there with her but the duct was empty for as far as she could see.

Another hard knock on the door.

Through the slates in the panel, Newt peered back into her room. Eyes fixed on the leathery object beneath her desk. The sense of motion from inside still so acute that she was certain – absolutely _**certain**_ – something was happening.

And then she saw what that something was.

Like the petals of a grotesque flower twisting open, the top of the dark leathery oval folded back. Slime seeped from the inside, thin and milky white and hideous. Unnatural. Newt continued to watch, even with every fiber of her being telling her to turn her face away. She didn't need to see this new horror.

Slurps came from the inside and she could just see something pulsing. Something organic.

She flinched back, moving deeper into the duct but kept her eyes trained on what was going on in her bedroom. She stayed near enough to the panel to be able to _**see**_ everything. Her blood turned to ice in her veins, thickening. The flow slowing down so that a pressure built in her head and behind her eyes.

Long, bony legs emerged from the object. A flat, hand-like body with eight legs like a spider and the long, muscular tail twisting like a worm around itself.

There was no sound, but Newt could have sworn she heard it scream as it flung itself from its egg like it had been launched from a cannon. It flew clear across the room and then she lost sight of it as it dropped down behind her bed. Too afraid to lean forward and check where it was, Newt slammed herself against the back of the metal air duct and gasped. Drawing on air so desperately she was swallowing more oxygen than she inhaled.

A second later, those spindly spider legs jammed themselves through the slits in the ventilation panel. The sharp edges cut easily into that tough alien flesh and greenish liquid leaked out of the wounds. Metal sizzled, hissing horribly in Newt's ears. The creature struggled, it's legs and flailing tail reaching for the little girl just _**there**_ . . . so close!

Newt screamed.

She opened her mouth wide and screamed as if she would never stop.

**A NOTE FROM DAYSTORM:** _Hi, all! :) I originally intended for all this to take place in the atmosphere processing sub-levels – where the Alien nest is – but as I was writing, things just didn't go that way. I couldn't find a realistic way for Newt to get out of the nest without it sounding stupid or impossible. I mean, really. The __**nest**__? So even though this chapter is not at all what I had in mind (and there are not half as many eggs or facehuggers as I'd intended there to be) I still hope it lives up to the expectations set by the former chapters. Cheers!_


	8. Chapter 8 - Stay Frosty

_***It goes without saying that Alien(s), the story and all related characters as well as the xenomorphic beast belongs to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the film or franchise of the Alien movies.***_

**Chapter 8**

**STAY FROSTY**

* * *

"Outstanding. Now all we need is a deck of cards."

– **Cpl. Hicks**

_Aliens_; 1986

* * *

Newt ran.

She didn't scurry through the air ducts as she usually would. She was not on her hands and knees. She was on her feet, hunched over because the "ceiling" was so low, running as fast as she could through the winding tunnels that were so dimly illuminated it was nearly impossible to see where she was going. The only thing that kept her from falling down is that there were no obstructions littering the floor to trip her as there would be if she were in a corridor.

There were so many noises coming from behind her; sounds that lashed at her back making the area between her shoulders itch. Newt ran even faster, pushing for all the speed she could manage. And it was hard. Hard to keep running when she was tired and terrified. Convinced that the spider-hand-monster was right behind her. That she was only seconds away from feeling those bony legs close around her skull. The "hand" pressing into her face. Newt felt strangled imagining it and she almost tripped.

She _**had**_ to get out of these tunnels!

She passed opening after opening, catching only quick peeks into rooms and storage closets and apartments. Any one of those was a way out but rather than pause to kick out the panels so that she could drop down, she kept going. Urgency pushing her forward. None of those places were good for getting away. Doors might be locked, or the distance to the floor was too far to risk . . . she couldn't let herself be trapped, and she certainly didn't want to risk being hurt. The creatures were coming!

She could hear them. Eight sharp legs tapping hollow little _**tick-tick**_ sounds in the ducts, with the thicker _**thud**_ of that long tail rapping on the metal air duct as the creature hurried after her. A long, muscular tail that would wrap itself so snuggly around her throat. Tying them together, as if those spidery legs weren't enough.

Newt was almost in tears. She was choking, futilely trying to think past the panic to where she could focus. She had never needed her cleverness as much as she did at that very moment. Quick, clever Newt . . . the girl who could never be caught or cornered. She felt that girl slipping away from her. Newt sliding back so that all that was left was Rebecca. A skinny little girl with blonde hair who liked to give herself airs. No. No!

She _**was**_ Newt!

She was unstoppable. Only . . . she knew she wasn't. The confidence she showed when playing with the other children was no more real than what they allowed. They looked up to her, therefore she was high. But these creatures were not awed by her reputation. They had no interest in her skill. And why should they, when they were just so much better. So big and strong and scary. What was one little human girl in the face of all that _**they**_ were?

Newt slipped on something slick streaking the smooth surface under her shoes. She dropped down to one knee for balance and saw the slimy residue glistening. It coated the rubber sides of her shoes and gummed in the fabric of her pants. Cool and thick. Her heart leapt into her throat, tightening painfully into a knot and she looked down the ducts branching away from the one she was in. She saw no black figures hulking about but the slime smelled to fresh to be anything other than new. The duct to her left shook as something heavy moved and Newt didn't hesitate to catch sight of what was there. She took off, moving slower than before but much more quietly for it.

The slime was slow to come off her shoes and it stuck to whatever else it touched, so that for Newt it felt like she were walking with glue coating the bottoms of her shoes. Every step stuck. And it was slick enough so that she had to adjust her balance as she ran. But she was almost there. Only a few more yards of dark tunnel and then she would be back in the corridor. From there, it was only a short way to the fitness centre and she would be safe.

Safe with people.

Safe with people who would protect her. Newt was so tired of being alone. Now, all she wanted was to be where everyone else was.

As scared as she was, Newt had the sense to stop and peek out before she tumbled into the wide-open corridor. There could have been anything out there waiting for her. But there wasn't. One quick glance showed that the hall was empty, though carts and boxes and trolleys were strewn all around. Packets and packages of all sorts of things tossed over the floor. She slid out of the ventilation duct and then stuck her fingers through the narrow slats of the panel that was supposed to go over the opening. The big steel panel was heavy and unwieldy, but she managed to lift it up and stick it back over the opening. To be safe, she slid the pins back into their rightful positions, effectively sealing the panel in place.

Flesh colored legs slammed through those narrow openings, hooking like beckoning fingers. The steel rattled sharply so that anyone could hear the desperation in the creature's attempts to reach the girl just there. Just out of reach.

Newt whimpered but did not scream. She kicked with her feet, propelling herself back to the opposite wall. There were no tears burning her throat anymore. Now, she just felt very cold. Cold and airless. She gasped a deep breath, filling her lungs with air but something in her chest continued to tighten. A pressure building.

For one illogical, terrible moment, Newt thought that she was going to die. She imagined that she had a monster inside her chest and it was pushing to come out, just like with her daddy. But no. No. This was something else.

As she watched those legs reach through the slats in the ventilation panel and the heavy, dangerous _**whap-whap**_ of the creature's tail slamming on the four walls of the air duct Newt realized what was happening to her. And knowing it actually helped to lessen the severity of the symptoms.

Panic attack.

A ridiculous name for something that felt so awful! Something that was so all-consuming so that it felt as if the pressure building in her chest moved to her head. Like air pressing up against the inside of her skull so that she thought her head would explode! Sweat slicked her whole body and she couldn't loosen the muscles in her neck and back. Her heart rattled in her chest, beating so fast that each pulse hurt her on the inside.

And she could not breathe. No matter how much air she pulled in on every desperate gasp, there never seemed to be enough. And each breath got harder, as the pressure in her chest wouldn't allow her lungs to expand as far as they needed to.

But Newt realized what was happening and that helped to make it easier to calm down.

She needed to breathe. Breathe . . . okay. She was okay.

The creature continued to flail, reaching for Newt through the slats in the ventilation duct but it wasn't getting through and that was good. But the slightest sizzle and hiss alerted Newt to the renewed threat. Acid bubbled over the steel as the creature cut itself on the sharp edges of the slats. The panel was _**melting**_.

Newt didn't know what she was doing. There was nowhere to run and she felt a swell of despair at the hopelessness of her situation. The creatures were multiplying so quickly and no one could fight them. To her eyes, they were unstoppable and a part of Newt wondered – for the first time – if it was worth fighting it. It would be so, so easy to just let them take her . . .

She glanced quickly down, frustrated with herself. The noises from the spider-hand-monster echoed thickly in her head. Could she do it? Could she really just sit there and wait for the creature to get her? It was so hard to fight when she was so, so scared. The intensity of her fear weakened her in a way she hadn't known could happen. Her resolve wavered.

_**CrackCrackCrackCrack!**_

_**Whoomph!**_

The entire colony heaved and bucked, the floor beneath Newt rolling so that she pitched forward. She landed on her stomach halfway across the floor, her ears ringing from the concussion of sound that blew through the corridor. Her head felt thick. Stuffed full of noise so that she didn't notice how close she'd gotten to those evil, grasping fingers in the vent or even feel the sting from the fumes as acid melted the metal so close to her face.

The creature was driven into a frenzy at the sudden proximity of its prey. She was so, so near! And the only thing keeping it away from Newt was dissolving. It knew. In some primal, purely instinctive way it knew that _**now**_ was the moment to attack. Newt would never be this vulnerable again.


	9. Chapter 9 - The Last Stand

_***It goes without saying that Alien(s), the story and all related characters as well as the xenomorphic beast belongs to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the film or franchise of the Alien movies.***_

**Chapter 9**

**THE LAST STAND**

* * *

"You still don't understand what you're dealing with, do you?

Perfect organism. Its structural perfection is matched only by its hostility."

– **Ash (Synthetic)**

_Alien_; 1979

* * *

Newt flinched, her teeth clicking as she bit down hard. She only just missed biting off a piece of her own tongue. The whole colony structure bucked once and then trembled violently before subsiding with a series of furious shivers. Vibrations that buzzed almost like an electrical current through the floors and up into Newt's body. Straight through her clothes into flesh and bone. The initial deafening _**whoomph**_ was gone but she could still hear it ringing in her head.

She was stunned. Lying on her stomach on the floor only inches from the monstrous "hand" reaching so desperately for her . . . Newt remained aware of the threat but couldn't make her body move. She attempted to roll up onto her knees – kneeling being the forerunner to standing up – and it was like trying to move while completely submerged in water. She felt heavy, as if there were actual resistance pushing against her.

The creature was nearly out of the ventilation, now. Hissing pierced the ringing chime in Newt's head causing her to look blearily around for the source. Droplets of acid steamed thick fumes on the floor just past her nose. No, that wasn't the source. Newt turned her head, twisting clumsily to see whatever else there was but the corridor seemed empty. Things that had been standing up were now toppled over making a mess all around Newt but there were no people in sight and certainly no monsters, other than the one right in front of her.

Newt found the strength to push herself off the floor. She wobbled a little and backed up to keep from falling down again. She closed her eyes against the whirling dizziness and nausea twisting her stomach into knots. Vomit climbed thickly up into her throat, high enough to sting the back of her tongue. She could taste the foulness in her mouth. The hand-creature wiggled, struggling through the growing opening in the duct panel and managed to slice itself on a protruding piece that was only partially melted and still sharp.

A gush of acid washed down over the flattened body, doing no damage to the alien flesh but dissolving the metal duct and the wall and the floor beneath it.

Newt didn't run away. She didn't have the strength or the sense to do that.

She walked. She strolled or, more, she tried not to throw up as the corridor seemed to slowly tilt and roll. The persistent chime-like ringing in her head was fading, and through the lingering noise Newt thought she could hear gunfire. A part of her tensed in anticipation of another explosion but it didn't come. Human screams echoed harshly. Those didn't last long.

Newt paused, resting her hand on the wall. She hurt everywhere. Her whole body felt battered and beaten and ripped apart. She was too tired even to feel bad for herself. All Newt wanted now was to find some quiet corner to crawl into.

But there was nowhere so she just kept walking. Soldering onward without any real idea of where she was going. Or what she was so boldly walking into.

More screams. Human screams and the horrid screeching of the monsters.

The part of Newt that still wanted to live warned her against going any further. Habit made her notice entrances into ducts, both those located near the ceiling and those down by the floor. But the monsters used those highways, too, and Newt had no interest in encountering more in there. It really was just easier to stay in the open hall.

And because of that she saw what she would otherwise have missed. The walls were caked with slime. One layer over another so that it appeared as if more was deliberately added as soon as the first layer dried. The walls looked brittle but they were hardening into something like a shell. And there were creatures folded into the walls. She could see them. They blended so well that she shouldn't have been able to spot any of them but she could. They were _**moving**_.

There was silence.

Humans going quiet. Again. Newt couldn't tell if that meant they were all dead, or they were just hiding. The idea that she was the only survivor caused a shiver of cold to ripple through her but there was nothing she could do about that. If they were all dead, then that was it. They would just be dead.

None of the creatures in the walls moved to stop Newt from going past; possibly because she was so calm. No running. No screaming. So they ignored her, allowing Newt to cross without trouble. It helped, she imagined, that she was able to walk more steadily now that the dizziness was gone. If she'd fallen over she was sure she would be killed. If she fell . . . they would descend on her and that would be all. She would be done.

Again, Newt felt the flutter of temptation. Her exhaustion and terror poking at her so that lying down and letting them take her didn't seem as frightening anymore. It would be over quickly and she was just so, so tired!

But fear of dying and the instinctual desire to live no matter what would not let her do that.

So she walked, moving silently through the monster-infested corridors and kept her senses alert for movement. For any indication that she'd drawn the creatures' attention.

The door of the fitness centre was open. The door itself partially ripped from the wall so that it swung precariously, held in place by a single hinge that strained under the weight. Not nearly strong enough to hold it for long. A large, melted hole in the floor directly in front of the door made it so that Newt would have to jump over it if she wanted to get into the room. She didn't do that. The creatures had begun to hiss alarmingly and Newt spotted the deep gouges dug into the floors. Gouges caused by claws. The blackened and charred steel of the walls on either side of the door, also melted but not by acid. The stink of scorched metal and superheated oxygen said that it was not the monsters that'd done the damage here.

The colonists had fought. Hard.

But there were no bodies. Newt peered around, her heart beating only a little faster than normal but only because of tiredness. Had she been rested, she knew her heart would have been hammering. There was this absolute sense of wrongness and suddenly, with other people is the _**last**_ place Newt wanted to be. They didn't understand. How could they not understand? Fighting the creatures would only get them killed quicker . . . or was that the point?

Confused, Newt turned away from the obliterated fitness centre. Lost and alone. She wondered where the survivors had gone, for surely some of them must have escaped. And what, she wondered, had caused the blast that shook the entire colony structure? It was like . . . it had felt like being inside a jar that someone knocked off a table. The slam hadn't been long but it could have consumed the entire world, as far as it felt like!

The creatures were hissing and spitting. From further down the corridor, too far for Newt to see through the gloom, one of them whistled and screeched. A long, high noise that caused the little hairs on the back of her neck to prickle.

It was time to go.

Newt walked as quickly as she could without rushing, again debating the benefits of returning to the ventilation but the memory of the spider-hand-creatures scurrying after her was too fresh to risk it again so soon. An idea, the slightest flicker of a possible escape, tugged incessantly at her mind but Newt pushed it away. Right now, she needed to . . . she needed . . .

She stopped.

She needed what? Find the colonists so that she could die with them? Run away? She could. Even after all her too-close-encounters, she was still sure in her ability to get away. But where would she go? There were no other settlements. No people or structures with bright lights and smiling faces. There was no safe place to go. Beyond the wall of Hadley's Hope was a whole world of black lava rock and harsh winds. Frequent storms. Brutal cold at night though the days did occasionally get pleasantly warm.

Newt was born here. This was her home and all she knew, and yet for the first time in her short life she thought of outside and realized the awful truth.

She was on an alien world.

And now, for the first time since this whole nightmare began, she was truly alone.

Rapid tapping from behind had Newt pausing, tilting her head slightly as she listened. Rain? No, that wasn't right. She spun, her eyes widening in renewed terror as the spider-hand-creature raced straight down the middle of the corridor with its long tail flicking and eight sharp, hard legs nearly a blur!

No scream! There were too many monsters around for Newt to risk screaming but she did take off. Running for all she was worth, pushing her exhausted body for more. More speed.

The walls seemed to swell, giving the illusion that there were actually thousands of monsters. There weren't, of course, but Newt didn't know that. She pelted through the corridors, aware that she was stirring the creatures into a frenzy of excitement with the promise of a chase. But she was beyond caring about that. She was beyond caring about much of anything. Now it was simply instinct. A base, animal intelligence telling her to flee, even if sight attracted the very things she was fleeing from.

From the corner of her eye, Newt spotted one monster leaning into the wall lift its slim head to look right at her. She saw those sharp teeth glistening and caught the low hiss of interest. She hoped, desperately, that the creature hesitated long enough to give her a head start. She shot past it at the exact moment it looked up. If it gave chase now, she would be run down in seconds.

The skittering spider-hand-monster was gaining on her, moving so _**fast**_!

Without thinking but with an enviable coolness, Newt dug the heel of one boot into the floor, using her own momentum to spin her body around and lunged down a side passage. She shot into a small storage closet, slamming the door behind her and then climbed the shelves inside. There was a panel in the ceiling that the children had discovered years before. Just one panel that had come loose and could be pushed up. Even removed, allowing a child to climb into the ceiling.

These were not the air ventilation ducts and once she was inside, there would be nowhere for Newt to go. She would be trapped. But wasn't she trapped, now? In a tiny, cramped closet only a thin door to keep the monsters out?

Newt climbed swiftly, her years of experience at scampering up and down walls a valuable skill now that it was no longer a game. She pushed on the panel with one hand, easily lifting the thin sheet and pushing it aside so that she could put it back in place once she was up.

Movement in the darkest corner of the closet caused Newt to freeze stiff. She held perfectly still for only a second and then, drawing on what remained of her courage, she moved only her eyes to look at what had come in with her . . .


	10. Chapter 10 - Alone

_***It goes without saying that Alien(s), the story and all related characters as well as the xenomorphic beast belongs to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the film or franchise of the Alien movies.***_

**Chapter 10**

**ALONE**

* * *

"I can't lie to you about your chances, but . . . you have my sympathies."

– **Ash (Synthetic)**

_Alien_; 1979

* * *

Newt held her breath. She stilled, not frozen but waiting. Watching. One hand stayed up, clutching the opened ceiling panel. Her chest hurt. Her lungs burned but she didn't dare take a breath and give herself away. The thing in the dark, so near to her in the cramped closet, moved again and she heard something slide against the floor. Something heavy and hard slinking stealthily out from under a shelf.

"Rebecca?"

"Timmy!"

Relief swept through Newt's body in a current of weakness.

Timmy hesitated for only a second, but then rushed out of his hiding place to fling himself into his sister's arms. He nearly knocked Newt off her perch in his haste and then clung to her as if she were the salvation he had been waiting for. Unease tightened in Newt's stomach and she shoved her brother off of her. She was happy to see him, but she didn't want to be touched. The contact made her skin crawl.

Timmy looked momentarily confused by this. His eyes were dark and lidded with exhaustion and fear and Newt imagined that hers must look just like that. Or worse. Had she seen more than her brother? She doubted he would have had the courage – or the emotional numbness – to walk through a hall bristling with monsters.

Even though Newt wasn't interest in being touched, she allowed Timmy to tentatively reach out and hold her hand. He flinched a little, as if expecting his sister to quickly pull away but she didn't. She endured the contact the way she would have endured having her blood drawn by a doctor. She didn't want to do it but she sat still and just let it happen. Like something that would be over soon.

"Where did you go?" Timmy asked, keeping his voice soft. Barely more than a breath of sound.

Newt said nothing. It was surprisingly difficult to speak. She couldn't quite manage it. Her ears rang from the silence she didn't have the nerve to break. Timmy must have thought it was a slight against him. He looked a little hurt and the mere idea that he thought she was being rude was funny. She hurt his feelings? _**Now**_?

The emotion was enough to bust through Newt's silence. She muttered the first thing that came to her. "What happened?"

"I hid," Timmy said, as if that wasn't already obvious.

Newt shook her head.

"The monsters came," Timmy elaborated. "They came and I ran away."

He lowered his eyes, and the shame in them was palpable. He looked scared and sick but also defiant. After only a few seconds, Timmy glanced up at Newt and almost bared his teeth at her. An open challenge. What would _**she**_ have done?

But Newt was in no condition to judge him. She didn't have the energy for that.

Certainly, neither of them had the time for it.

The cramped closet was dark and from the slight space at the bottom of the door, shadows moved over the floor. Low, predatory clicking tapped all around the two children. The door rattled sharply. A monster was there, right on the other side. Newt did not breathe. She did not move or even blink. The dull pain in her chest flared again but she was so frightened that she didn't even notice it.

Lots of narrow, sharp little legs skittered and Newt saw their shadow, too, from beneath the door. They were trapped. The creatures knew where she was hiding!

Trapped but not quite ready to just give up, Newt let go of Timmy's cold hand and climbed nimbly up into the ceiling. Her brother didn't notice. He stayed where he was, frozen in terror, and gaped at the closed door. He had to know that the door wouldn't keep the creatures out . . . he had to know how vulnerable he was sitting on the floor but he did not move!

"Timmy!" Newt called, as loudly as she dared.

The door rattled again as the monster knocked sharply against the steel. The spider-hand-creature scurried past again. She heard its thick tail slap against the floor with a hard _**thunk-thunk**_!

"Timmy, up here!" Newt tried again.

This time, her little brother glanced up. His face was white as powdered chalk. His eyes wide and pleading. He seemed to be begging, imploring his sister to come down and save him. But she couldn't. Newt may have wanted to but she knew that she could not. Was it fear that kept her hidden in the ceiling? Or sense? A deep understanding that had nothing at all to do with emotion. Her heart cried out for her brother but she knew – knew it absolutely – that she would die if she went down for him. She had to make a decision and that choice . . . was to save herself.

She tried one more time, as the steel door bent and swelled inward from the force of the monsters leaning into it. "Timmy! Climb up!"

He shook his head. No.

Newt gasped. The thick metal screaming a protest as it bent and twisted and finally broke open. With one hand and no conscious decision, Newt slid the ceiling panel back into place. The furious hiss and whistle from the monster nearly drowned out Timmy's agonized scream. A high, shrill sound she never would have imagined could come from a boy. Or a girl. The noise hurt her head just by listening to it and in that moment, the exact second where the panel would have closed completely sealing Newt into the ceiling where she could hide and wait . . . she saw what happened to her brother.

The sharp, eight-legged hand-monster launched into the closet and slapped over Timmy's face. Legs locking around the contours of Timmy's skull. Muscular tail coiled around his throat.

Timmy flailed, pain and panic seizing him. He kicked his legs. Arched his back so that his chest heaved upwards, reaching towards the ceiling. Towards Newt; the sister who had not saved him. His hands slammed on the floor, fingers hooking into claws. He scrabbled desperately, mindlessly and the horror of what was being done to him was unimaginable. He was awake. He was still awake.

The black monster lifted its head and howled. A sound that was perversely joyous. Or else triumphant.

Not caring if they saw the motion, Newt slid the ceiling panel all the way back into place. She sealed herself into the dark and curled in on herself. Drawing her knees up to her chin, she thought that maybe she would cry but there were no tears . . .

* * *

It was too dangerous to journey up to the kitchens anymore.

Though the kitchens and their stores were far, far away from the atmosphere processing plant where the monsters had their nest, Newt knew the creatures would often leave a scout in there to ambush the little human girl who continued to evade them.

Newt felt that the monsters were becoming angry with her. How could one little scrap of flesh and bone escape them for so long? So she had begun to avoid the area entirely.

That complicated things. There were still so many supplies in the kitchen pantry she could pilfer but the risks just weren't worth it. So now she was forced to go into apartments one at a time in search of food and packets of water rations . . . especially now that the water filtration system had stopped working. Newt was afraid just to go down and see if she could repair it herself, though she didn't know how to fix anything even if it were perfectly safe to make the trip.

So she would leave her little nest – the square 'cave' in the ventilation that Timmy had once shown to her; that he built for both of them – more often than she would have liked. She needed water. She needed food, too, but for now water was a more pressing concern.

Newt felt cold as she slunk stealthily through the ventilation. It was painful to imagine that she'd once used those tunnels for games. She missed the complex and often shifting alliances that had once been her whole world. The games the Hadley's Hope children played had never been just an after-school activity. These alliances, the campaigns, had been deadly serious even if no one ever actually got hurt. And she missed the complicated simplicity of it.

These tunnels were _**still**_ Newt's whole life, only now it was a deadly earnest game she played. One misstep and it would be over. She would be dead and a part of her wondered if maybe that would be for the best. She had begun to wonder that more and more often, as time passed. As days of hunted isolation stretched into weeks. No one would save her, because there was no one left. She was sure of it. If anybody was still alive, hiding like she was, she would have found some sign of it before now. No, she was alone. And she didn't know _**why**_ she was still fighting to survive. It would have been so easy to just fling herself down one of the processor shafts. The fall would kill her . . . and so long as the monsters weren't the ones to get her, it would be okay.

She wanted to take that from them, at least. They would never get her, no matter what.

Newt paused.

The ventilation ducts really did amplify noises. Even those sounds that came from the corridors outside. And she was hearing something. Not the familiar hiss or heavy footfall of the creatures. Not the scurrying of a spider-hand. These sounded like voices.

Human voices.

Startled, Newt shut her eyes and breathed deeply. Had she lost her mind? The isolation and omnipresent terror, always just there, could have driven her mad. Was she hallucinating? Loneliness was a terrible thing.

Newt took another deep, deep breath and listened carefully.

Light, cautious footfalls thumped in the corridor and it sounded like it was almost right next to the duct she was in. They were so close!

Curiosity had Newt following. Confident in her ability to avoid detection. She followed the footsteps and voices up to the med lab.

"Hey, Hicks!" a voice called out. "I think we've got something here."

A male voice. A man's voice and Newt flinched away from the sound. She wasn't interested in men. The voice hadn't been particularly threatening but it was deeper than a woman's and that frightened her. Newt had gone too long without hearing a person speak and it seemed so, so harsh to her. A noise that grated in her ears and that might draw the creatures up from their hiding places. It was safest to just get away, now. The monsters would be coming.

But then, as she moved steadily away from the loud people in the med bay, another voice spoke.

"One of us?"

Newt hesitated, almost turning back to peek out and see who was there. It was a woman's voice. Taught and strong but still distinctly feminine and something inside of Newt melted at the sound. Like the voice of an angel. The cold inside of Newt thawed just a little and for the first time in so long, she felt the prickle of tears. She felt _**longing**_.

No. No!

This was dangerous.

Newt hurried away, coming to where the duct got too narrow for her to squeeze through. A part of the 'ceiling' was bent and twisted, having collapsed during the initial battle for the colony. A fight Newt had missed, no less. But there was nothing she could do for that, now.

Carefully, she removed the panel opening the duct into the corridor and waited. The voices had gone silent but she thought that she could just hear the thump of boots.

She couldn't stay here. She couldn't risk remaining in the duct for too long because the spider-hands used them sometimes. She needed to get back to her 'cave' where she could curl up and sleep for a little while. Was it worth the risk?

Yes. The other duct was only a few feet away. She could make it if she was fast.

Kicking off with her feet, Newt launched herself across the open corridor with her eyes locked on the slats of the panel on the other side. Safety!

_**Ra-tatatatatata!**_

Fire and light erupted all around her. Deafeningly loud! Newt thought her head would explode from the sound and her heart slammed against her ribs from sheer panic. Too much noise. The monsters would hear this!

"Hold up!" someone called.

Another voice said, "Ripley."

Newt crouched behind a large pipe, nearly underneath it as she struggled to catch her breath. She had not expected to be shot at! Her eyes were large and wild and she tried to peek out and see what the people with guns were doing.

She saw faces peering in at her. Curious, unfamiliar eyes of men with helmets. No, no. This was wrong. They were going to die if they stayed out there, and that was okay. Newt felt safer alone. She was lonely, certainly, but it was better to be by herself. She needed that quiet. That stillness. It helped her to stay alert and aware of the monsters moving around.

A hand reached in, stretching to grab a hold of Newt. The woman was speaking but in her panic, the words were nonsensical. She couldn't make sense of any of it. But the woman's voice was soothing. So soft it weakened Newt's resolve to stay away.

Distracted, she didn't see the hand close over her wrist but the sensation of warm flesh and the strength in that grip broke whatever calm Newt had been trying for. Terror coursed like liquid heat through her body and she bite down _**hard**_ on that hateful hand. The man yelped and pulled back and Newt defaulted to what she was best at. She escaped. First into the floors, but there was nowhere to go from there and she knew it.

With the sharp cleverness of the prey-animal, of a mouse or a hare, she scurried around so that the people grew confused and then, quick as a darting minnow, she slid into the ventilation.

"Wait!" someone called from behind her.

Newt would not wait. She crawled on her hands and knees as quickly as she could, tumbling head over heels into her sanctuary of blankets and toys and food packet. Something big and heavy and clumsy was in the duct directly behind her. She spun around and pushed on the grate, struggling to keep it shut as the woman on the other side pushed back.

Hunger and thirst had weakened Newt even further than she had imagined. She couldn't keep struggling against the woman's greater strength so instead she released the panel and flung herself backward. Buried herself in a corner and watched the human woman glanced around the small space with a look of mild astonishment.

Newt's chest heaved as she breathed, struggling to pull in the air she so desperately needed but fear was making it hard. There were rubber bands tightening around her lungs.

Newt's gaze moved cautiously away from the human woman. Her mind worked furiously for an escape and she realized – almost like she suddenly remembered – that there was another way out of this duct.

With no warning at all, Newt spun and dug her fingers into the grate. She tugged hard, pulling the panel out but before she could launch through it, strong arms wrapped mercilessly around her middle. The woman pulled Newt back, away from her safe escape and held her as Newt cried. Nonsensical noises coming from her throat as she tried desperately to get away.

"It's okay. It's okay," the woman was saying. She wouldn't let Newt go, no matter how hard the girl struggled. She held Newt firmly to her chest. Holding her. Cradling her.

Newt fought a little longer, instinct driving her to run but she was still only a child. And the warmth of the woman's body, the steady pulse of her heart against Newt's, was too much for the little girl. She cried once more, a fierce denial, and then calmed herself. Comforted and, somehow, enchanted by the sensation of living warmth. Of arms wrapped so protectively around her.

Newt sighed, leaning exhaustedly against the woman's chest and stared up at the rotating fan that was her sanctuary's ceiling. She let the woman hold her, comfort her, and in that moment Newt knew that she was lost . . .


	11. Chapter 11- It Won't Make Any Difference

_***It goes without saying that Alien(s), the story and all related characters as well as the xenomorphic beast belongs to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the film or franchise of the Alien movies.***_

**Chapter 11**

**IT WON'T MAKE ANY DIFFERENCE . . .**

* * *

"Why? Why are the innocent punished? Why the sacrifice? Why the pain?

There aren't any promises. Nothing certain. Only that some get called,

some get saved. She won't ever know the hardship and grief for those of us

left behind. We commit these bodies to the void with a glad heart.

For within each seed, there is a promise of a flower. And with each death,

no matter how small, there's always a new life. A new beginning. Amen!"

– **Dillon**

_Alien3_; 1992

* * *

She was caught.

She was cornered in a way even the monsters had never been able to trap her.

The people who came with their bright lights and weapons, marching so boldly straight down the corridors. Newt had heard them coming and she knew that the monsters had to be aware of them, too. And that their noise, the mere presence of these people, was a threat. She needed to get away from them. She wanted to go hide. To return to the relative safety of the ventilation but she didn't do that. She made no move to escape even though she was sure she could. No one was watching her too closely, now that it appeared as if she'd given up.

Newt had not given up.

The thing that held her so firmly with these people was far simpler than what any of them would have thought, if they'd bothered to wonder at her stillness. She had been caught by love. By the memory of what it meant to be held and soothed in the arms of her mother. She remembered what it had once been like, to feel fingers combing through her hair. A gentle kiss on her forehead as she was tucked safely into bed each night.

She had forgotten, but now she remembered what it was to be loved by her mother – by someone who truly cared – and Newt had felt that exact thing in the strength and warmth of the woman who'd caught her.

Duty would not have been enough to get that woman to follow Newt so quickly. Without even a hint of hesitation; catching the child hadn't been a job.

She'd cared in a way none of the others did. And that simple gesture, that show of giving a damn, had reached Newt. It was quite possibly the only thing that could have, at this point.

Newt would not speak with any other the others. The soldiers, even the women-soldiers, unsettled her and so she said nothing to any of them. She didn't know what had happened to the dark-eyed woman who found her but she was close by and so Newt stayed on the table where she was placed and waited. Allowed the soldier-medic to examine her. The tall officer to question her. Newt endured all of it with a stoic disinterest. She stared straight ahead, but she _**was**_ listening. Her hearing picking out each sound. The murmur of voices in the other room.

And then, like a miracle, there she was. The woman with the dark hair and deep eyes, speaking in a voice that bristled with annoyance and frustration at the officer trying – and failing – to question the child. They'd gone away, then. The officer and the soldier-medic quickly giving up on the girl.

Finally alone with the woman, Newt was at a loss for what to do. She defaulted to what she was already doing and continued to stare blankly forward. Refusing to meet the eyes of the woman or even move to show she was aware anyone was there.

Newt knew that the woman was reaching out, trying to break through her protective shell of silence, but she was going about it the wrong way. A small bribe of hot chocolate actually worked to push Newt deeper into herself. Of course, the woman couldn't have known that Newt had spent the past few weeks devouring the contents of every silvery dessert-packet she could find. The sweetness of the hot chocolate soured in her stomach. She'd had too many sweets in the darkness to associate the flavor with anything other than terror and hidden horrors.

The warmth of the drink felt nice, however. She hadn't tasted anything warm since . . . since, she couldn't remember exactly when.

What drew Newt forward was actually the woman's touch.

The rough but deliberate brush of a towel over her cheeks and chin. It was a motherly gesture and such a deliberate act that something inside of Newt stirred. She found herself paying closer attention to the sensation of the towel scrubbing against her face. The slight burn as layers of grime and filth was roughly removed. The sound of the woman's voice, with just the right combination of hard strength and a natural tenderness. Also the deliberate attention the woman paid to Newt as she washed the little girl's face. Newt said nothing but she _**was**_ paying attention.

"Hard to believe there's a little girl under all this," the woman said, a hint of humor bleeding through. "A pretty one, too."

The woman smiled, inviting Newt to join. Her lips quirked a little when it was clear Newt wouldn't and in the gesture, Newt saw that the woman understood. She was telling Newt that it was okay. She could speak when she was ready.

"You don't talk much, do you?" A remark, not a question.

Newt felt her own humor bubble and immediately shut it down. Astonished but also terrified that she was even capable of feeling anything anymore. She didn't, however, turn away from the pleasant sense of belonging elicited by being attended to. The affection she felt for this stranger, if for no other reason than because of her quiet understanding.

"You know, I dunno how you managed to stay alive," the woman was saying "but you're one brave kid, Rebecca."

Rebecca. Rebecca Jordan.

The sound of it hurt her heart and Newt winced, but only on the inside. No one would have seen anything of what she was feeling.

The woman looked down, moving to fold the towel over to a clean corner so that she could continue to clean Newt's face. Newt kept staring forward but a pressure was building in her throat. Like the burn of tears only . . . not. Air. Or, or words.

"N-newt."

It was barely a whisper, only the faintest breath of sound escape. It was all Newt's stiffening, disused vocal cords could manage on a first try but the woman heard it. Or else she heard something. Her head came up, dark eyes at once alert and definitely interested. It was far more attention than Newt had ever received from an adult and at first, it startled her.

But she tried again, forcing sounds into words. She wanted this. She wanted this connection.

"Newt. My name's Newt." She hesitated, warring with herself but then added, "Nobody calls me Rebecca, except my brother."

The woman offered a small, proud smile at the girl's obvious effort. She had realized, without needing to be told, just how hard it had been for Newt to give even that much of herself.

"Newt," the woman repeated, to show that she'd understood. "I like that. I'm Ripley. It's nice to meet you, Newt."

Ripley. Ripley . . .

"What about your brother. What's his name?" Ripley asked.

Guilt gnawed, twisting in Newt's empty belly. "Timmy."

He had never been Timothy, to her. It was always Timmy, just as he'd never accepted her as "Newt". And the last time she'd seen him . . . he was only a child. Like her. Scared and lost and so alone. She could have tried to save him, and died for the effort, but she still could have _**tried**_.

"And is Timmy around here, too? Maybe . . . hiding. Like you were?" Ripley asked, unaware of the self-loathing Newt felt as she remembered exactly how badly she'd failed her brother.

Newt said nothing. She turned her gaze away from Ripley, unwilling to see the disappointment she was sure would be there. Ripley would know. She would know what Newt had done. Shame scalded, even hotter than her disgust in herself.

Seeing Newt's quick withdrawal, Ripley tried again. "Any sisters?"

That one was easier to answer. Newt had no sisters and so it was simple to just shake her head.

_**No.**_

"Mom and dad?" Ripley pressed.

Fear and anger swelled. Confused, Newt slowly nodded her head.

Yes. Of course she'd had a mom and dad.

"Where are they Newt?"

Fear. Anger. Confusion. Ripley was pushing too hard and Newt . . . Newt wasn't ready to deal with these memories, yet. It still hurt too badly and she needed to bury that pain if she was going to survive. Did she want to survive? No. But she would, anyway, because what else could she do?

Ripley, aware that Newt was slipping even further away took the girl's face in a gentle but firm hand and forced her chin up. "Newt, look at me."

It would have been so easy for that gesture, the single command, to force the girl so deeply inside of herself as to be lost to them forever but it was a mother's hand. A mother's touch and for that reason alone, Newt stayed. Her mind numbing against the horror of her memories but still there.

As softly as she could make her voice, Ripley pushed for more. "Where are they?"

"They're dead!" Newt shot out, angered but also frightened and stricken by a grief she had had no time to allow herself to feel. She resented Ripley for making her deal with it now and tried for insolence. Would that make the woman leave her be? So she added as ignorantly as she could, "Alright? Can I go now?"

She had hoped to anger Ripley but her words had had the complete opposite effect.

Ripley's gaze softened with sympathy. "I'm sorry, Newt."

Those words, that quiet admission stung. Newt didn't want sympathy. She certainly didn't want empathy. She had no interest in Ripley's understanding. All at once, she was just tired. She wanted to go hide in the ventilation, where it was safer, and curl into a ball. She wanted to sleep.

As if aware of Newt's annoyed disinterest, Ripley tried just one more time. A small offering, of sorts. She was in essence holding out her hand, hoping that Newt would take it. "Don't you think you'd be safer here with us?"

Sighing, Newt shook her head.

"These people are here to protect you," Ripley said. "They're soldiers."

Newt looked up at Ripley then, her deep blue eyes too old and sunk too deeply for such a youthful face. Newt said the first, and really the only thing she could think to say.

"It won't make any difference . . ."

**THE END**

* * *

**A FINAL WORD FROM DAYSTORM:** _Hey all! Just a quick few words to thank everyone for reading straight to the end of this. I hope it's lived up to expectations. ALIENS was the first scary film my parents ever let me watch. I may have been 5 or 6 at the time . . . and I'm not sure I forgive them for this! Haha What were they thinking? __**Shadows in the Wall**__ was never intended to be a very long story, which is why I chose something that would have an actual timeline to it. This story was supposed to end when Ripley and the marines arrived and go no further than that. Still . . . even if some chapters never really turned out the way I wanted them too (there were wayyyyy fewer eggs and facehuggers in Chapter 7 than I'd originally intended) I was trying to make this scary. Or at least to leave my readers with a sense of unease._

_On an aside, I cut the part in this chapter about the doll head (Casey) that Newt carts around in the movies . . . mostly only because I never mentioned it before and it would look weird to just drop in it now, seemingly out of nowhere._

_So, again, thank you to everyone who chose to read my fanfic. I really do hope you enjoyed it. Cheers! Hope to see some of you over on my other fanfictions._

_Best,_

_Daystorm_


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